The Flue's Spue
by Fluehatraya
Summary: The first chapters of stories that I will probably never completely write out, speckled here and there with true oneshots. Twenty-ninth up: His Eyes: A drabble. Honestly trying to get back into writing for Danny Phantom, but it's tough going, alright?
1. From the Thermos

**Author's Note: Right, so this is a collection of oneshots. Most of them are the first chapters to some of my many plot-bunnies, most of which I will never even write. If any of you readers are interested in the full-fledged stories that the first chapter ones are written for, feel free to ask about adopting one or even more.**

**Disclaimer: I own neither Danny Phantom nor any other series that may show up in this collection.**

Oneshot One

From the Thermos

"Mr. Lancer! Sorry that I was late!" Jazz exclaimed between pants as she bolted into her first-period class, which was IB Classic Literature. She skidded to a stop before the teacher's desk, clutching to it as she attempted to catch her breath, her chest heaving from the physical exertion she had just been through.

Now if it had been Jasmine's younger sibling, Daniel Fenton, Edward would have had absolutely no qualm with handing the tardy student a detention. However, this was his brightest and most eager student, with a perfect grade point average and sure future in an Ivy League school. Because of that Mr. Lancer waved her off to her seat with a simple 'don't be late again'. Of course, it also helped that the future psychologist was respectful to his face and one of the few students that showed him respect behind his back also.

Smiling her gratitude to her teacher, the senior relinquished her hold on the furniture and walked over to her own desk, sliding into the seat and pulling out the required materials. Being studious by nature, she became immersed in the lecture and neglected to notice that she had left an important item behind after first entering the room.

**LINE BREAK**

The break bell rang, signaling to students and teachers alike that third period was over and that they may now take their lunch breaks. Edward Lancer dropped into his seat with a relieved sigh, his feet sore from standing up and pacing in front of the classroom for three hours straight. Now he could relax with a nice book and the lunch he had packed for himself, his stomach rumbling at the last thought for he had not had the chance to eat more than a piece of toast for breakfast that morning.

First though, a small bit of business. He started plugging the attendance list of his last period's students into his computer for the office, scowling as he input the younger Fenton as 'absent' once more. What was _wrong _with that boy? Sure, Danny had never shown any of the same brilliance as his sister, but when the freshman school year had first started and progressed through the first semester he had definitely shown potential. Now? He was hardly in class, and when he was he left for so long that it counted as an absence against him anyway. Nothing Edward could think of explained his unruly student's bizarre behavior or why it lasted so long. He had even considered drug abuse and even had the school nurse test him for it, but the results revealed him to be clean of such activity. Other possible explanations were ruled out one by one as they could not find any real evidence to substantiate them with. Actually, finding out anything about the boy seemed impossible these days; he seemed to disappear for long hours after school was out and his parents reported him to be so distant from him that they had no idea what he was up to save that he spent an exceeding amount of time in the company of his friends.

Edward shook these thoughts of his head, knowing that to ponder further would only leave him and vex him with more answerless questions. He finished inputting the roll list and put the computer on stand-by. The teacher pulled his briefcase up onto his desk and withdrew from it his book, but no sandwich, which he had made last night for lunch today. He swore by the name of a book when he realized that he must have forgotten it.

Grumbling, he resigned himself to going hungry for the rest of the day and pried his book open, settling into his chair to read. Edward had just gotten to the end of the first sentence from where he had last left off when an unfamiliar glint of fluorescent lights on metal at the edge of his desk caught his eye. He looked up and noticed a thermos with a strange design that he figured must be "hip" with the kids these days, making it look like an advanced piece of technology instead of a simple beverage and/or soup container. He chuckled to himself at the thought of some sort of super advanced thermos as he reached over, picking it up for a closer inspection.

A thought occurred to Lancer. Perhaps a student had left it for him! It was Teacher Appreciation Week after all, and even if he'd only come away so far with a scant haul this year (as he did every year, if he was lucky) in comparison to the more popular teachers, there was always the exception. The vice-principal beamed, thanking the universe that on the one day that he would forget his lunch a student would leave him some.

He eagerly removed the cap with a twist, one of his thumbs accidentally pressing the green button on the side of the thermos with the action. Much to his surprise, he was met not with the aroma of soup but rather a thin blue vortex that soon died down, but not without leaving something behind.

"_Finally _Jazz, do you have any idea how long I was in there for? It must have been forever!" the once-absent Danny Fenton shouted and waved his arms above his head with his ire, wincing as he felt his joints snap after he had been cramped in such a small space for so long.

His sky-blue eyes widened as they alighted not upon the sheepish older sister he had been expecting, but rather a gaping teacher.

"_Alice's Adventures in Wonderland!_" a startled and perplexed beyond belief Mr. Lancer cried out, looking back and forth between the thermos he still held and his student. He warily peered down into the thermos to see that not only was it acting good and not sucking him inside as he was half-fearing it might, but also appeared as small inside as it should be. Just in case he tried fitting one of his hands in, and could not even get his fingers down past the middle joints.

Danny slapped his forehead and dragged his hand down his face, knowing that a lot of damage had already been done. Undoubtedly, Mr. Lancer would want answers soon.

**LINE BREAK**

Enjoying her lunch off-campus, Jazz came to the startling realization that she had forgotten to let her brother out of the Fenton Thermos after she had accidentally sucked him in (while he was in human form, which surprised her) when she had been attempting to capture a ghost that he had just defeated.

Now the question was: where exactly was that thermos?

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note (again): Right, so I've been utterly buried with schoolwork for the past couple of months, and when I've not been busy with that I've been exhausted. Sorry for not updating anything for a while; this is actually the first time in some time that I've been able to write something of a decent length and I'm trying to get back into the writing groove.**


	2. TYaSNaDWB

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

Oneshot Two

Twenty Years and Still Not a Day Went By

Twenty years.

The Portal.

The ghosts.

It was twenty years ago that his life halted.

Twenty years.

And yet, not a day went by.

Not for Danny Fenton.

A Phantom ghosting through places and people.

One moment he is there.

And the next, he's gone.

**LINE BREAK**

A hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. Danny looked up, smiling his reassurances at its owner.

"You sure you will be alright?"

Danny rolled his eyes.

"Positive. I've been pulling this kind of stuff off for years now, and haven't slipped up in my current alias yet."

Tucker's expression became solemn.

"I wish you didn't have to go through all this. You shouldn't have to."

"Yeah, but I have no choice. In any case, you're helping me so much; even putting your own hide in danger to keep up the ruse."

"But it's not enough."

"Dude, you've already done so much for me that it's really all I can ask for. I know I may never settle down, have a family, or anything, but you're there for me." Danny said, smiling even wider; it didn't quite reach his eyes. Tucker smiled back, removing his hand from his best friend's shoulder to allow him to continue on.

As they turned their separate ways, the unspoken _'for now'_ resounded in the swiftly-widening space between them.

After all, Tucker had only a lifetime, but Danny had time eternal.

**LINE BREAK**

As Danny entered the high school he shifted the weight of the backpack that he carried. While the weight itself did not bother him – many of his ghost traits, which included strength, had bled into his human form – that did not change the fact that it was awkward on his back due to its contents and the fact that it was old and had suffered much abuse.

It was over twenty years old after all, and just like he had not been able to leave behind his identity as a deceptively scrawny high school student it had followed him. The backpack did not resemble its original state at all, however; most of it was wrapped up multiple times in duct tape with globs of dried superglue showing here and there, and what little you could see of the once brilliant purple fabric was now dull and threadbare.

Nostalgia was what kept it at his side all of these years. Due to his predicament, Danny had very few personal belongings that weren't being stored with his friends, and of the ones with him the backpack was one of the few that were a connection to his old life. As a normal human being growing up and trying to find his place in life, and as a half-ghost fighting to survive and keep his newfound place in the world.

All that fighting had come to naught though; when it was apparent that he wasn't aging Danny had had to abandon almost everything that he knew and came to depend on his best friends – Tucker Foley, now a creator of technology who was quickly becoming rich, and Sam Manson, heiress to the Manson fortune and a revolutionary of 'green' practices – just to deceive the world around him as he frequently moved from place to place, playing his masquerade. He knew he could not stay in one place for long nor become close to anybody else, for questions would arise and his newfound companions would age and die.

Danny strode through the hallways of the school, scuffing the polished linoleum floors that reflected the harsh fluorescent lighting that fell upon them. The building had a very sterile feel to it: clear of debris, no posters or student projects on the wall, and uniform rows of dull grey lockers that appeared brand new.

He hated it.

He could not even compare the bleak school to a lab, for the basement lab of Fentonworks had definitely warped his perception of what a lab should look like. Fortunately, the second semester was almost over and he would be out of here for good, worming into a new school in a different town probably in a faraway state.

Perhaps Hawaii. He had yet to go there, and that would be a breath of fresh air.

The students all around him moved like a river, the kids going somewhere winding around groups that stalled to chat. Everyone moved around him, never with. After his friendship with Tucker and Sam, Danny knew he could never sustain a new one when it would be based completely on lies on his part. No, it was better to just watch things pass him by.

_The living world is still as much yours as is the Ghost Zone._

Those were words Clockwork had spoken to him when he had sought him out to fix his aging, or rather, the lack of.

Danny didn't believe them. In the Ghost Zone he was persecuted for being alive at least partway and in the realm of the living everything he knew would change and he couldn't change with it.

It was with relief that Danny reached his classroom. Here he could find refuge in pretending to immerse himself in the work – naturally, after being a high school student for over a decade, he really couldn't be concerned with the education factor – and daydream. Sometimes, on a sunny day while half-awake to the drone of the teacher's voice, he could feel himself taken back to Casper High. Sam would be on one side of him, doodling and sneaking glances, and Tucker would be behind him, flicking pieces of paper at him between discreetly playing on his PDA under the desk.

Hell, he even missed Mr. Lancer. Most teachers were off-put by Danny these days; even if they didn't recognize what it was about him they nonetheless could sense something inherently wrong about him. Just thinking about it Danny could practically hear the drab voice of his old English teacher and vice-president, going off on a long tangent about some literary work or another.

Danny wrenched the door open, to see that most of the other students were already seated, the back of an unfamiliar adult facing him as he bustled around the classroom. The halfa slapped his forehead; how could he have forgotten? There was a new teacher because theirs was gone on maternity leave and a note had been sent out reminding his class to come early to explain some of the changes.

"Well, well, well, you would be our tardy student, Mr. Phentoni . . ." the teacher said as he turned around, his gaze focused on the clipboard held in his hands. However, he looked up, and we both froze as our eyes met one another.

It was Lancer.

Danny had never quite appreciated how small the world was. Had he not been dissuaded from religion since a young age by his parents, the half-ghost might have prayed fervently to whatever divine being out there that Mr. Lancer wouldn't recognize him. As it was, he merely took on the look of a deer caught in the headlights.

"_Tuck Everlasting!_ Mr. Fenton, is that you?" Lancer exclaimed, not believing his eyes.

Danny gulped.

Mr. Lancer knew that it was him, and even though every citizen of Amity Park was unobservant to a fault if they couldn't even realize that Danny Fenton obviously had some sort of connection to Danny Phantom, Danny was pretty sure that not even his old teacher from his hometown would be able to ignore the fact that one of his new students was identical to one of his old students, and his most troublesome one at that.

_Play it cool, Fenton._

"Hey, that's Phentoni." Danny was sure his voice rose into a stuttering squeak at the end.

_Smooth._ He could hear the sarcasm dripping from his own thoughts.

For the first time in nearly two decades Danny was confronted with his past and he did not like it. Not. One. Bit.

The silence of twenty years, of age and eternity, stretched between the two Amity Parkers. Scarcely a soul dared to breathe in the room, sensing that they had no right to intrude.

"Meet me after class, Mr. _Phentoni_." Lancer finally said in a curt tone, his lips thinning and brow furrowed. Danny nodded silently, shuffling off to his seat and dropping his backpack onto the ground with a heavy thud.

Danny had eternity before him, but that class period was an eternity of its own.

**Author's Note: Yeah, I was looking through my documents and came across this, which I wrote some months ago. I was like: oh, a generic, hastily written Danny-is-immortal oneshot. I'll just touch this up a little bit and throw it into my new oneshot collection. So that is what I did. Honestly, why the heck does Lancer keep coming up as a main character in these oneshots? Well, fortunately the next one I'm writing will have a more varied cast and Lancer will probably be excluded.**


	3. Walk My Grave

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

**Author's Note: Right, so this is the first chapter of Walk My Grave, unedited and probably really bad, but whatever. I've gotten a fair amount of the story written out so far, but I don't plan to post any more of it until it's completely finished and edited. However, I would like to hear any kind of critique, suggestions, likes and dislikes that you may have pertaining to this chapter, since it can give me an idea of what you readers want which is why I'm bothering to post this right now. This will be removed from this oneshot collection after I start uploading the real story. Oh, and it's dedicated to deadlydaisy808; who you have to thank for getting me to write this story in the first place and teaching me how to actually plan out a story. This is most certainly NOT up for adoption, unlike many of the story beginnings in this collection.**

**Walk My Grave**

Ghosts: beings either formed from the mind of a dying creature impressing upon ectoplasm. The process of their formation ultimately warps them from what they originally were, both in form and mind. Ghosts, despite what manner of sentience they may possess or lack, are in the end very different organisms from humans with a mindset that makes it impossible for them and humans to understand one another entirely or even well. This has led to the belief held among most humans that ghosts are evil, and they are not exactly off. For evil is a perception, and as what morals ghosts possess do not hold same with humans and vice versa, one can indeed call ghosts evil when measuring them against the scale of morality that humans use. For humans, the wonton destruction so frequently wrought by ghosts is incomprehensible and offend their ideal of good. However, it is not in the mentality of a ghost to hold objects of material worth as important, and they do not understand that they are doing wrong by humans when they cause so much ruin.

That isn't to say that ghosts don't have morals, of course. Far from it; theirs are merely fewer, stricter, and completely esoteric to humans. While lacking many of the instincts that humans have, ghosts have their own that has lain down their codes of conduct since time immemorial. Furthermore, almost all ghosts adhere to these unspoken rules which are ingrained so deeply into their very nature to the point that the mere thought of going against them is inconceivable for them.

It is different for halfas, of course. Being an unnatural mix of human and ghost, the mindsets of their two contrasting natures are not exempted either. Take Daniel Fenton – also known as the illustrious or infamous, depending on who you ask, Danny Phantom – for example. While ghostly instinct has very little sway on him, neither does human instinct, and what instincts he does have of these mix to be a wholly unique way of perceiving things that could only be shared by another halfa (and this is questionable, when comparing and contrasting Danny Fenton/Phantom to Vlad Masters/Plasmius.) After all, for all that he cares about protecting Amity Park from the ghosts that invade what could be perceived as his territory, he seems to possess little concern for whatever property damage may occur. Indeed, one may even question his motives for defending the town. Ghosts are by nature territorial of their haunt, and humans are defensive when it comes to threats against their place of residence and the people they care for.

But perhaps neither of these fully explains why Danny has taken it upon himself to extricate all ghostly beings from Amity Park. The answer to the question of why Danny so fervently works to keep out any otherworldly invaders could lie within these unspoken but heeded rules of conduct that all ghosts – even halfas – share.

To understand the true motives behind Danny's actions against otherworldly invaders, one must first gain an insight into the nature of ghosts. The first thing one should know about ghosts are the main points to their code of conduct:

No ghost shall kill a human:

Only the most depraved of ghosts will consciously take a human's life. As vicious and spiteful towards humanity as many ghosts are, all ghosts remember their death, and quite vividly; it is often the catalyst of their becoming ghosts for one reason or another, and no sane ghost could in good conscience be the result of another's death.

No ghost shall intrude into the lair and/or haunt of another ghost:

Furthermore, no ghost may enter another ghost's lair and/or haunt without their permission. Not only are ghosts typically highly territorial and possessive, but it can be perceived as equal to violating another ghost physically. Ghosts are by nature obsessed with being in control (believed to be a result of their not being able to stop their deaths from occurring) so when another spectral being enters a place that they alone dictate – and in such a fashion that often showcases what matters to them – they are in the complete right to remove the intruder from the premises in whatever manner it takes to achieve this.

No ghost shall violate any grave:

Trumping all codes of conduct is this one, and only the pettiest of ghosts would ignore it. "Walking over my grave" is more than just an idiom to express a sensation; it is a truth for ghosts. There is nothing that a ghost holds in greater sanctity than a grave. A grave, as defined by ghosts, is a place of importance for your body after death, whether it is where the ghost died, the place where they were buried, or a spot commemorating them in some fashion. The grave is a ghost's link to the living world, and they cannot exist there without one. More than just that, it is one of the only connections they have left to the lives they left behind; while ghosts are incapable of remembering their lives, they always have a sense of where their graves are located – in the same way as they do their lairs, the ectoplasm-signature of these important places resonating with their own – and when they are being paid respect to in the form of a tribute such as flowers or other gifts.

A ghost can literally feel when their grave is being walked on. It is described as a very unpleasant and discomforting sensation, as if their very souls are being trod upon. What is more, ghosts can recognize the ectoplasm-signatures of ghosts that walk on their graves or disrespect it in some other ways, which had led to indefinite-lasting feuds. The aversion that all ghosts have to desecrating another ghost's grave, even that of one they absolutely detest, is apparent in the way that their kind avoid cemeteries and even part of the reason why they are naturally inclined to hover rather than be earth-bound.

Now typically ghosts are very good at obeying these behavioral rules. Even Danny Phantom, a halfa notorious for breaking rules is only guilty of infracting upon the second one. However, every ghost (excluding Danny) that has ever existed and will ever exist is in violation of the third rule listed and is completely oblivious to this fact.

For all of them walk upon a grave. Where is this grave and whose is it? This grave is the Ghost Zone itself, and the one that it belongs to is none another than Danny Phantom himself. Who, it is important to note, is just as unaware of this as everyone else.

**LINE BREAK**

Danny flew over the streets of Amity Park, his ghostly tail streaming behind him like a pennon. His hands – surrounded by effervescent green energy – were thrown out in front of him and aimed at his quarry, which was none other than the Box Ghost who, oddly enough, was carrying a bouquet of flowers with him. Or at least, what Danny thought was a bouquet. The flowers looked more like weeds that had been torn up from the ground (he could actually see their roots, which were clotted with dirt) and bunched together by a length of bubble wrap.

"Seriously, how do you keep getting out? I have a test tomorrow in English that I have to study for!" The halfa shouted at the Box Ghost, who was squalling indignantly at the ghost boy who he just couldn't shake off but nevertheless did not stop flying towards his destination. Where the Box Ghost was heading turned out to be a flat, grassy area that was partitioned off from the rest of the town by fanciful wrought iron fencing. The Box Ghost careened down, Danny in hot pursuit, his features more ticked off than angry or serious as the wind stung his eyes and blew his hair all around.

Nearing the place, Danny could now make out what it was and couldn't help the sudden shock that raced down his spine and resulted in his involuntarily gasping, which almost made him pull up from his descent out of surprise. Danny had never been a fan of cemeteries, but after the portal accident he had found them much more eerie, and it was to his relief that until now his ghost fighting duties had never taken him anywhere near them, for some odd reason that he couldn't comprehend.

The Box Ghost was slowing down now, gliding to a gentle stop before one of the graves. He stooped down and placed the flowers he brought with him on the grave, Danny coming up behind him as he did so with a querying eyebrow raised.

"Huh? Boxy, what are you doing?" The younger ghost sighed, the energy around his gloved hands dissipating. Even though he was more than exasperated with the Box Ghost's many antics over the course of his career, he couldn't help but be curious by this display. He had never pegged any ghost to do something like this.

"I am showing my respect to the Lunch Lady, so that she will go on a date with me! BEWARE!" The Box Ghost shouted as he turned around to face the halfa, hands raised and fingers waggling in a manner the full ghost thought to be frightening.

Danny cringed, remembering Boxed Lunch. It looked like that aspect of the future could be on its way soon, which was just too sick to think about. Box Ghost and Lunch Lady? That was just . . . eurgh! He decided that a change in subject was needed as soon as possible, before it could end up going in a direction he would much rather avoid. Besides, the Box Ghost's actions were intriguing him; considering that he mostly fought ghosts that came into Amity Park – his hometown – and tried to avoid the Ghost Zone and its inhabitants as much as possible, he was rather ignorant about ghost culture.

"So, why not just hand her the . . . bouquet in person?" He was hesitant to call the sad excuse of flowers a bouquet, but figured that insulting the Box Ghost would get him nowhere, even if the guy was as pathetic as his offering.

"Mwuhahahahah! My arch-nemesis has to ask me such a question! Of course, for such a –" at this the Box Ghost started ranting about how great he was and the likes, while Danny examined his gloved hand as if it fascinated him without even bothering to put up the pretense of listening to his "arch-nemesis".

"–but I, the great and terrifying Box Ghost, shall take pity upon you and answer your ignorant question! BEWARE!" The Box Ghost laughed, and Danny rolled his electric green eyes. Finally! The guy could just prattle on and on; the halfa had had half the mind to regret that he'd asked and just suck the sorry ghost into the Fenton Thermos. Did all ghosts have to speak so much? At that moment Danny resolved to break his own jaw if he caught himself doing the same thing.

The Box Ghost cleared his throat.

"Obviously I could do that, but my heavenly lady –" here the Box Ghost waxed on about the Lunch Lady, much to Danny's exasperation and revulsion "– so that she may truly know how I truly feel, I present them to her grave as an offering of love and power to her!"

"Wait a minute, that's the Lunch Lady's grave?" Danny asked as he actually looked at the grave he and the Box Ghost were floating in front of. It wasn't much to look at, with a simple headstone with her name and the dates of her birth and death embossed in copper. Somehow the reality that the Lunch Lady had once been alive, and now existed as a shade of herself, really struck him at that moment, and he couldn't suppress the shudder that coursed through him and left his skin tingling with goosebumps.

"You really are a C-student, aren't you?" deadpanned the Box Ghost.

"Hey! I'm only a C-student because of all of you ghosts, overrunning my hometown for your own lame purposes!" snarled Danny, as his left hand moved toward the thermos clipped to his belt, his other hand lighting up with a green glow that fluctuated and crackled dangerously, bespeaking of much pain. The Box Ghost, who was surprised and honestly frightened by the sudden hostility and territorialism, decided that this was a good time for diversionary tactics.

"So, erm, where is your grave?" he asked, realizing that the longer he kept up this peaceful conversation – inconceivable as it was – with the powerful half-ghost then the longer he went without being beaten up and sucked into the tiny CYLINDRICAL space. Besides, this was an interesting insight into the half-dead teenager; he had not missed the feral possessiveness that had entered his voice at the mention of his hometown and the invading of it by ghosts, and wondered if he was perhaps more ghostly than he had presumed.

Regardless of what it was, the attempt at distracting the halfa was a success. Phantom blinked, his hands stopping where they were. For a moment the graveyard was silent save for the sound of a charged ectobeam ready to fire and the wind, rustling through the leaves of a nearby yew tree.

"Huh?"

"Your grave. Where is it? Err, as my arch-nemesis, it is only right that I visit it at some point to pay my respects to my most honorable and greatest of enemies!" The Box Ghost repeated, stumbling only slightly as he searched for a reason to back up asking his question.

"Dude, you do realize that pretty much no one knows that I'm half-dead, right? I don't have a grave."

At this the Box Ghost actually took on a disapproving expression, wagging one of his stubby index fingers at the halfa.

"Nonsense! You have to have one; you died, after all! Even as a half-ghost you still need one to exist in the realm of the living!"

"Look, I have no grave! After all, I'm walking around like a normal human being rather than buried six feet under! Now you're going into the thermos!" Danny grasped the aforementioned invention and removed it from his belt.

"You don't need to be buried to have a grave! It can be the spot where you died! Tell me, have you ever gotten the feeling like you have just received a gift from somebody without having been so, or that someone," a gulp "is . . . walking over you? The feeling that your personal space is being intruded in?" The Box Ghost was flustered now at his impending confinement in the cylindrical device.

The halfa stopped once more, his eyes widening as he took on a thoughtful expression.

"Actually . . . yeah, I have; to the second point at least, but that's all of the time. I always figured that was a side-effect from the Ghost Portal. Y'know, some ghost thing."

The Box Ghost's eyes darkened at the fact that apparently his ultimate foe's grave was constantly being violated. What foul fiend would show such disgrace! Then he blanched as something else that Danny said occurred to him.

"Did you, erm, get your powers from the Ghost Portal?" he asked shakily. It was actually a subject of much interest to the ghosts that they did not know the answer to, although they knew of the halfa after the Fenton Ghost Portal was activated.

The way a Ghost Portal works is not that it creates a gateway into the Ghost Zone, but rather confines the dimension in its bounds with a convenient doorway to enter and leave the Ghost Zone through. As the Ghost Zone is a place that does not follow the laws of the universe that order the living world, this also allows it to remain infinite in size and capable of existing in multiple areas and time periods all at once congruously.

And the fact of the matter is that to become a halfa one must still die. And it just so happens that Danny died when the entirety of the Ghost Zone came to fill the portal that he had turned on; unlike Vlad, who died in a hospital after years of suffering from the ecto-acne he had contracted as a result of his portal, only to mysteriously recover immediately afterwards and be released out into the world.

Danny nodded in response to the Box Ghost's question, confused as to why he had reacted as he did. The Box Ghost surprised him when his only reply was a strangled yelp, before he attempted to fly away.

"Oh no, I'm not letting you get away!" Danny shouted after him, shooting after him in flight. He soon caught up, unscrewing the cap of the Fenton Thermos.

"No! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll never bother you again, just please, don't send me back to the Ghost Zone!" the Box Ghost wailed hysterically. The halfa was shocked by the ghost's reaction, wondering what it was that got him into such a fit. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to listen to his pleas; although Danny wasn't an unsympathetic person, these ghosts were always invading his home and causing him nothing but trouble! Their mere presence grated on his nerves!

"No can do, Boxy!" Danny activated the Fenton Thermos, a vortex of blue-white light spilling out from it. Although the Box Ghost weaved and zigzagged in his flight in an attempt to escape, his efforts were for naught as the light dragged him kicking and screaming into the thermos.

"Well, that was odd." The young ghost hunter remarked and rubbed the back of his neck as he stared down at the thermos that he held containing his most recent catch. What was it that had gotten the Box Ghost so riled up? They had been having a perfectly normal talk (scratch that, for Danny was pretty sure that talking about dying and graves was not normal conversational matter) when all of a sudden he starts freaking out. Was it something he said?

Danny sighed, rubbing his free hand over his face. He could really do with a lesson on ghost manners, considering the fact that everybody neglected to tell him everything. Heck, he hadn't even known about the Winter Solstice Truce until he had gone and broken it!

After floating there for a few moments later, Danny shrugged and decided to forget about it. It wasn't like it was important, right? His mind set, Danny flew off back home to release the ghosts held captive in the Fenton Thermos and then to study for the English test tomorrow and hopefully get enough sleep to be rested come time for school.

**LINE BREAK**

A block away from his house he landed in an alley and, after checking his surroundings, let the blue-white rings of his transformation burst out from his ghostly core and wipe his ghost form away. In their wake was left an alive and mundane-appearing teenage boy who was a far cry from the (un?)dead hero that had been standing there a moment ago. He then walked the rest of the way home and upon arriving entered, wincing when he saw his parents waiting for him there. They had been getting all up in his case about his being out past curfew as of late.

He allowed himself hope however when he saw his mom and dad smiling at him.

"You just made it in time! Now if only you could keep this kind of behavior up." Maddie said, and although Danny remained impassive on the outside, something deep within his belly shrank back as if reprimanded before coiling angrily, like a snake poised to strike; it wasn't his fault that he was always late, and now it seemed like his parents always expected him to disappoint them! It was all because of these stupid ghosts that were ruining his life, always intruding on his space! Danny resolved to give the Fenton Thermos a good shaking before he emptied it out into the Ghost Zone, regardless of whether or not he'd had a civilized and mostly not unpleasant conversation with one of the ghosts inside of it. Honestly though, he was surprised that even after having that chat with the Box Ghost that he had still made it home in time to be within the bounds of his curfew; maybe he was getting better at this whole ghost hunting gig.

"Whatever." Danny said, stomping past his parents and hiding the thermos from their view with his body, much more subtly than he used to. After nearly two years of half-living Danny's bumbling was mostly an act, a pretense that everybody expected to see and thus never sought to look under. He pretended to be rummaging through the kitchen for a late night snack until his parents ascended the stairs to the second story before dropping what he was doing abruptly to head down into the lab, grumbling under his breath about how thankless the job he took upon himself was. He risked his hide (literally in the case of Skulker) every day, forfeiting his studies and most of his social life, and in return there was still a good quarter of the town that decried him as evil. Who were they to call him evil when he was the only one – save for a few mortal ghost hunters who were rather ineffective anyways – willing to step up and protect them?

He jammed the Fenton Thermos with more force than was necessary into its designated slot in the Ghost Portal and released its captives into the Zone, where they belonged but undoubtedly would not stay in for long. His task finished, he took the now empty thermos back up with him to his room, where he would make an attempt at studying before going to sleep. If he didn't have more ghosts to round up, that is.

Unfortunately for Danny, what he did not count on was the number and the tenacity of ghosts that would soon flee from their own realm in a mass exodus.

**LINE BREAK**

The Box Ghost hurtled through the Ghost Zone after being ejected from the thermos' port in the Ghost Portal. He moaned when he saw where he was, clutching his head in his hands with disbelief and horror. His home and the entire Zone! Every ghost! He could not believe that all of this infinite space was the grave of Danny Phantom. It made so much sense now why his arch-nemesis always seemed aggravated by the presence of ghosts and picked fights with them!

He felt sick, feeling how sacrilegious his just being here was. The Box Ghost remembered the few times before when his grave had been stepped on, and could not fight the desire to squirm at the memories. Must find a portal, he chanted like a mantra in his head over and over, to the point where even all thoughts of boxes and his beloved were driven from mind. As anyone who has become acquainted with the Box Ghost at one point can say, this is almost unprecedented for this pathetic ghost.

His flight through the Ghost Zone was in haste and many lesser ghosts scattered at his passing as he made for his lair, following the resonance between it and his own aura that could be felt no matter how far away one was from the other. Unbeknownst to other ghosts (save for the Lunch Lady), who did not go out of their way to visit the abode of a ghost they considered beneath them, the lair of the Box Ghost had a treasure ensconced within: a stable portal that led into Amity Park. It was not a natural manifestation, but had been formed when the Fenton Ghost Portal had been activated, for the barrier between the two planes of existence had worn fray in the vicinity of the manmade portal.

"Hey!" an intimidating voice barked at the harried ghost, who cringed when he recognized whom it belonged to.

"You interrupted my hunt! Give me one reason right now why I shouldn't end your pitiful existence and use your hide as a throw rug!" Skulker, the Ghost Zone's self-proclaimed greatest hunter, snapped. The Box Ghost turned around, gulping when he heard the whine of an ectoplasmic gun charging with deadly energy and came face-to-face with the fearsome ghost.

"BEWARE! There's no time! We must vacate the Zone!" the Box Ghost shouted, waving his arms wildly in an attempt to get across how important this was. Skulker was not convinced.

"Oh? And why is that, pest?"

"Because it is the younger halfa's grave!"

Skulker's eyes widened before narrowing, the green flames running up the back of his neck to the top of his head flaring.

"And how would you know that? Why should I for one moment believe something so preposterous?"

"He told me! This is his grave! Beware!"

The Box Ghost saw his chance and sped away, Skulker frozen where he was in doubt. He then shook his head, scowling, and headed off to a different part of the Ghost Zone. The Box Ghost was an idiot and had undoubtedly been tricked, but surely his employer would know more about the subject of the whelp's grave.

LINE BREAK

It did not take Skulker long to reach the artificial portal disguised as a purple football, and he repeatedly slammed a gauntleted fist on it heavily as a form of knocking. While he had been given permission to come through whenever if it wasn't for a reason that Plasmius deemed as inane, it was common courtesy to knock. The hunter had a healthy respect (which also translated into fear of evoking the ire) of the elder halfa and knew that he would be in a very foul mood if disturbed when he was preoccupied.

The portal doors slid open to reveal the half-ghost standing there in his human form, an eyebrow raised quizzically.

"I do not recall requesting your presence, nor have I had any jobs for you as of late. What warrants this visit?" Vlad inquired as he stepped back, gesturing for Skulker to enter. The ghost did so, the portal doors shutting behind him with a pneumatic hiss.

Skulker took a deep breath to speak and decided to just get right to the point.

"A portal accident was how you and the ghost child received your powers, right?"

"Of course, how else would such a thing as our being be possible otherwise? Of course, our accidents are fundamentally different." Vlad mused, rubbing his chin with the length of one of his index fingers in thought.

"Different? How so?" the hunter was curious. The two were both halfas from a portal accident, weren't they? What difference could there be?

Vlad's lips pressed together until they formed naught more than a thin line, a shadow falling over his eyes. Skulker realized then that he was treading into dangerous territory and nervously backed away from his employer until his back collided with the portal doors.

"My death, the transition into half-ghosthood, was not immediate." he said curtly after several long, tense moments and even Skulker, insensitive as he was, could make out the myriads of painful emotions condensed into that simple sentence. The sound of glossy, expensive leather against metal could be heard as Vlad tapped one of his feet as he lost himself in thought. He then shook his head and straightened his back, his proud bearing returning.

"Daniel, on the other hand, was far more fortunate than I. Whereas I suffered for a long time from my accident, his was very short. Of course, getting your face blasted with a small in comparison amount of ectoplasm versus having your entire being blasted with it while being electrocuted would make a difference." the halfa chuckled mirthlessly. Eavesdropping on Daniel when he had been talking to his sister about the accident had borne that unexpected piece of information. He had thought about it and realized perhaps that was why Daniel had not held a grudge against his parents or friends for their role in his half-death; he'd been caught up in activities too quickly and had not had the long hours of isolation to mull over his state and find something to place the blame on.

Vlad's eyes then narrowed dangerously, and he suddenly turned on a heel to face Skulker, who gulped.

"And why is it that you wished to know this?" his voice was low and full of suspicion. Skulker could just imagine a hiss being barely restrained on Vlad's part to accompany the flash of red in his eyes.

"Well, err, I just heard the most ridiculous thing from the Box Ghost, and was curious if it was true or not, about the whelp." the hunter managed to keep from stammering. Vlad accepted this answer, visibly calming down. The menacing aura that he had projected, which made him seem as if he were looming over the large ghost even if he did not move at all, withdrew.

"The Box Ghost is an idiot." he dismissed, and pressed a button to open the portal, indicating that it was time for his guest to leave. Skulker did so with haste, before Vlad could decide that he was offended by his employee's insight into a sensitive matter of his and vaporize him for the trouble.

The portal shut after Skulker and he floated in the green void of the Ghost Zone listlessly for a long moment, before his eyes widened. The Box Ghost may be an idiot, but Plasmius had confirmed something he had said. The horrible realization that he was breaking the most sacred rule upheld by ghosts dawned upon him, and he shot off as quickly as he could go to spread the word. Nobody would take the word of the Box Ghost seriously, but although he was not the most powerful ghost, Skulker was well respected and held influence among the ghost community. After all, he may not be that powerful, he was a ghost well-versed in the culture and all of his weapons and defenses were highly effective against specters. It also helped that he had the backing of a feared individual, of course.

**END CHAPTER ONE**

**Author's Note: This was also my first time ever writing many Danny Phantom characters; I'm sure I haven't done them justice. Sorry for taking so long to update this collection; I've been really busy lately.**


	4. Kryptonite

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom or anything relating to Superman.**

**Note: I actually don't know much about Superman, so if I made any mistakes regarding it please kindly inform me. I honestly don't have any idea where this came from . . .**

Oneshot Three

Kryptonite

"You know, I don't think you're a half-ghost at all." Tucker said to Danny one day as they were walking to the halfa's house from school together. It was a few months after the Disasteroid debacle, and things were finally starting to calm down to the point where it was actually possible for them to walk to and from school.

Walking along the other side of Danny – who was staring at Tucker with an expression of disbelief – Sam snorted loudly.

"Oh, then what is he supposed to be?"

"A Kryptonian, of course!" announced the techno-geek.

"A what?" Danny finally found his voice.

"Like Superman!"

"Dude, I am not Superman."

"I didn't say you _are_ Superman, I said you are _like _Superman."

Sam started laughing, and Danny was not sure whether it was him or Tucker that she was laughing at. Regardless, he shot a glare in her direction.

"Just think about it! You can fly, you have super-strength, and your powers are negatively affected by a glowing green rock, which is like kryptonite to Superman! Not to mention that the glowing green rock also comes from outer space."

"For your information Tucker, my parents are eccentric _human _ghost-hunters, not aliens. Next thing I know you're going to tell me that I'm adopted and that my real parents are Kryptonians." Danny rolled his eyes, ascending the steps to his house and opening the front door. He and his friends were revealed to the sight of his parents sitting on a couple of chairs just inside, apparently waiting for them. Clenched tightly in his mom's hands was a crinkled letter.

"Danny, there's something you have to know. You're, err . . ." Jack started, but trailed off as if unsure of how to continue. Maddie took over for him.

"You're adopted."


	5. The Death Glitch

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom**

**Author's Note: I had fun writing this, although I don't feel as if it's all that good. I'm sure someone else could do a far better job writing this story than I can. Do you like my Grim Reaper? And how about Jeffrey, the Grim Reaper's intern?**

Oneshot Four

The Death Glith

Beyond the nonexistent edge of the Ghost Zone is a black void, and floating in this void is a small office building. The office building changes frequently to fit the needs of its two and sometimes more but usually less inhabitants; typically though it features an office cubicle with a desk, computer, filing cabinet, and lots of paper; a break room with a water dispenser; and an even smaller office cubicle containing lots of knick knacks.

This is the office of the Grim Reaper, and as epic as you would imagine the job and its workplace to be, it was actually very boring. It was mostly just a lot of paperwork that required a lot of coffee consumption to plow through, and if it were possible the Grim Reaper would have committed suicide a long time ago.

Lately though, the Grim Reaper's job has become even more frustrating.

**LINE BREAK**

The Grim Reaper frowned (it was amazing how expressive a skull could be when it belonged to a being that did not allow a lack of muscles and more to get in the way of movement, executed instead by some arcane power) at the computer screen before him, spindly bone fingers tapping away at the keyboard restlessly as he searched Google to find a solution to his problem. It was quite a unique one, and eventually he exited out of the search engine. He'd been looking on the internet for a solution to his problem for quite some time, but to no success.

After all, how is one supposed to find a way to fix apparent glitches on a person's death record on a mortal website?

This was the Grim Reaper's problem, the one that had him pounding his head on his desk and even screaming in short bouts for several months now. Growling, he pulled up the infuriating death record that taunted him so with its very existence. The first thing to notice was a picture of a scrawny teenager, his pale skin (almost deathly so) a stark contrast to his unruly mop of black hair, long bangs falling into eyes so blue that even the Grim Reaper could not last recall seeing a color that compared. He supposed that they were like the color of the living realm's sky, if his distant memories of it were accurate.

Regardless, he looked like your average teenager, all-in-all.

His death record begged to differ, though. The Grim Reaper, in his very long career, had come across several strange death records, but this one stood out amongst them all.

Despite having no eyes, the Grim Reaper perused the file pulled up on the computer again; desperately trying to find the slightest thing that could explain why the date of death and state of existence was constantly changing. It hadn't been like this until two years ago!

Name: Daniel N. Fenton

Age: 16

Sex: Male

Date of Birth: April 3, 1990 CE

Date of Death: March 3, 2004 CE

Existence: Alive

There it was again! His date of death was over two years ago, and yet his status was alive! He rubbed his face with a hand when he saw it change once more.

Name: Daniel N. Fenton

Age: 16

Sex: Male

Date of Birth: April 3, 1990 CE

Date of Death: August 27, 2006 CE

Existence: Dead

By all rights the Grim Reaper should be able to collect his soul. But he never got to, because the status always went back to 'alive' quickly, and he would face a _serious_ investigation by the Higher Powers for the misuse of powers and condemnation of an innocent living soul. The Grim Reaper remembered his predecessor's punishment and shuddered.

He tapped his chin with a finger, a clacking sound lessening the silence of the room that was unbroken save for the electronic buzz of the computer, noting idly that the Date of Death and Existence had reverted back to its previous state. At least it wasn't such a weird new date of death that left him scratching his head; there had been instances where this boy's date of death had gone back before even his date of birth! Preposterous, but he had seen it happen.

The gnawing feeling in his nonexistent stomach returned again. He craved, oh _so _very much, to get down to the bottom of this mystery. It intrigued him so very much; how was a mere human able to tangle their Fate up so? It was even more bizarre than that one incident with a death record twenty years ago give or take, where the guy had died when his date of death said it would, only for his status to bounce back to alive and his date of death pushed further forward into the future. Regardless, the guy's status had remained alive and his revised date of death firmly affixed.

The job of the Grim Reaper was very boring, not nearly as glamorous as it was portrayed to be. The Grim Reaper hadn't realized this even when he was interning under his predecessor. The Higher Powers would never let him investigate this bizarre, repeated occurrence; they would just go on about how everything must be going according to Fate. BS! The Higher Powers may be too concerned with the bigger picture to bother meddling in the affairs of a mortal, but the Grim Reaper was confident that someone's cat Up There had gotten into Daniel N. Fenton's thread of Fate and tangled it. Sure, being the taskmaster of Fate was an arduous job, but surely if they had hired someone other than a blind hag to be it then they wouldn't have these problems in the first place?

Alas, there was nothing that he could do, however.

Or was there . . .?

A sly smile crept over the Grim Reaper's skull visage as a potential plan occurred to him. He did have a lot of vacation days saved up, after all, and a very competent intern . . .

"Jeffrey, get your scrawny ass in here now!" the Grim Reaper shouted through the open door of his cubicle.

A moment later a tall young man with sallow skin and dark features, garbed in a simple black robe also, shuffled in with a scowl marring his angular face.

"Scrawny? You're not even skin and bones, you're just bones!" Jeffrey, the Grim Reaper's intern, snapped.

"Hey, I don't pay you to talk back to me." the Grim Reaper glared. It was a very scary look since it was on a skull which should not even be possible, but Jeffrey took no heed of it.

"You don't pay me at all, the hours suck, there are no benefits; why do I even bother remaining?" the dissatisfied intern ranted.

"Well congratulations, you're going to bother remaining because I'm going on a working vacation." the Grim Reaper ignored Jeffrey's complaints. He picked up the scythe lying at his feet and tossed it at the other entity, who caught it with a yelp and a new wound slashed across his face, bleeding a dark green ichor that seemed to absorb all light.

"Wait, what?" he looked to his mentor bewilderedly, only to discover that in his place was a teenage boy of probably sixteen or seventeen rather than the skeleton he was so accustomed to seeing.

"In other words, you're the new Grim Reaper. I'm going undercover as a mortal in the living realm to fix the whole Daniel N. Fenton problem. Edit my death date to, oh, let's say . . . August 7, 2007, would yah? It's under Thanatos in the Esoteric Entities folder. I probably won't need longer than then. Ta!" the Grim Reaper said. He then exited from the office building. He did not come out into the void, but rather from what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse near a lake port.

The Grim Reaper smiled, feeling the unusual stretch of flesh pulling his lips upward.

"Perfect!" he gasped, the formation of the simple word and the breath it took to say it taking him aback.

**LINE BREAK**

Mr. Lancer walked up to the front of his English 11 class, frowning as his eyes fell up Daniel Fenton. Oh joy; he had the troublesome boy in his class _again_. Last year had not been any different than freshman year for the boy in terms of academic success, and he wondered idly how the boy could possibly handle the rigors of junior year if he could barely scrape by his last two.

"Attention students. I am Mr. Lancer, your English teacher and the vice-principal of Casper High. Now I know most of you are familiar with one another, but joining us this year is a transfer student, and I want you all to make him feel welcome." here he let a disapproving gaze linger on Dash and a few of his other jock cronies, before making a beckoning motion at the classroom door. It opened and a teenager strode through, a smirk on his incredibly pale face. His eyes and hair were washed out in color and his fashion sense very dark, consisting of blacks and greens with spikes that should be counted as weapons.

"Oh yuck, another Goth!" Dash exclaimed, earning a withering glare from the teacher that shut him up, although he still whispered loudly among his group of friends and made punching motions.

"Would you like to introduce yourself?" Mr. Lancer asked the new student, who nodded and started speaking in a voice that had a rasp to it.

"My name is Thanatos Harvester. My interests include coffee and sharp objects. I don't like paperwork or bowling." he said. Some of the students were bemused by his introduction, if their expressions were to go by.

"Well then, you may take the empty seat next to Mr. Fenton, Mr. Harvester." Mr. Lancer said, pointing at the desk and its conjoined chair.

A gleam entered Thanatos' eyes as he nodded once again and walked over there, easily avoiding a leg put in his path with the intent to trip him. He took his seat and turned to face Danny, his pervasive smirk turning almost predatory in nature as their eyes met. There they were, that unmistakable sky-blue color. Unperceivable to the eyes of mortals however, he also caught the green lingering just behind them: the green of death.

Well, it looked like he was already on to something, now wasn't it? Thanatos – the Grim Reaper in mortal guise – vowed to himself to root out every little secret of this seemingly normal kid, even if he had none of his powers to aid him in the task.


	6. Welcome to Up Here

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom**

**Author's Note: This is a tie-in with The Death Glitch. Whether you want to treat it as in the future or just a spin-off that has no bearing on the fifth installment of this collection is your choice. I have NO idea where this came from; it started out normal enough, but next thing you know . . . eh. Well, not all of them can be winners in your eyes, I suppose. Lately I've been so bored, so I guess all of these oneshots happen.**

Oneshot Five

Welcome to Up Here

Danny shifted nervously in his seat. It was a very boring chair, made of wood and straight-backed with a utilitarian design. His surroundings were also dull; a room with a white tile floor and white plaster walls. There was a window to his white with an equally boring view, although it had been interesting for a short while: an endless stretch of clouds and the watery blue of the sky. The lighting was very strong, the single ray of light passing through the window illuminating the room completely. There wasn't much else to the room that was noticeable, save for the large desk in front of him that curved away and the . . . being, for lack of a better word, behind it.

"Daniel N. Fenton; sixteen and a half years of age; physically male; this is you, right?" the being did not look up from the papers before it as it inquired in a dry, masculine voice that reminded Danny of libraries, antique leather furniture, and the musty yellow pages of old books. The halfa nodded, finally removing his gaze from the floor to the entity before him. It was mostly a blob of yellow light coalesced into an indistinct humanoid form; the only thing that stood out particularly about it was the black thick-rimmed glasses with their large square frames perched somewhere in front of what could pass as its head. Danny was bemused by this; what kind of thing that didn't even have any apparent eyes would need glasses?

"And it says here that you are a, ah, human-ghost hybrid?" a note of surprise entered its tone, the first time it broke monotone. Danny found his voice, and spoke up with minimal stuttering.

"Yes, that's right."

"Fascinating. Well Mr. Fenton, you most certainly belong here or at least in a side realm. The Bureau of Immigration will set you up with citizenry as soon as possible." the light being stated and returned the papers it held to their manila folder before writing out a note and slipping it into the file.

"That means in about a million years," Danny commented under his breath, well aware of how bureaucracy could bumble and take forever with anything, before speaking up "hey! I happen to enjoy my life in the living realm perfectly fine, thank you very much!"

The light being shifted slightly, and Danny got the sensation that a gaze was being leveled at him, if the position of the glasses was anything to go by.

"Regardless, you are an esoteric entity and according to the Esoteric Entity Restriction Act of 3767 you are required by law not to become in any way involved with the mortal plane."

"But I'm half human! I don't even see why this whole esoteric entity label applies to me, and what about Vlad?" Danny whined, not caring how he sounded at the moment.

"A human-ghost hybrid is a concept that cannot be understood by humans. As for Vlad Z. Masters, if that is who you are referring to, we have looked over his files and come to the conclusion that no, he does not count as an esoteric entity. Whereas you are literally in a state of existence suspended between life and death and certainly not a mortal despite your protests, Mr. Masters is merely a human bestowed with a ghost form and the powers that comes with it. He is still essentially alive and is scientifically possible and explainable."

Danny hung his head dejectedly.

"However, as you recall such as in the case of the Grim Reaper, you may take a leave of absence for a period of time if permitted and go to the mortal plane if you relinquish your inhumanity into an appropriate vessel approved by the Esoteric Entity Administration."

The halfa bristled at the implication that there was a part of him that was inhuman. While it was still true that ghosts weren't humans regardless of whether or not they were the shades of a deceased one, along with the fact that his paranormal abilities were not natural to a human, it still got on his nerves. He liked to think of himself as human still, thank you very much.

Just then a knock sounded against the door to Danny's left.

"Come in." the entity made of light called.

The door opened up to reveal a rather ordinary looking man who appeared to be ethnically from the Middle East.

"Ah, Mr. Fenton, this is your guide. He is going to show you around, gather some informational packets and passes that you will require while your citizenship is still pending, and provide you with lodging and accommodations. Later you may find yourself interning under somebody or even acquiring a job straight away, if you prove yourself competent in any skills you may possess." the light being said.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fenton." the newcomer smiled at Danny. Danny nodded and stood up silently, neither wanting to speak nor sure of what to say. The man was not dissuaded by the teen's silence though, waiting for him at the door and then chatting to him amiably about mostly inane things.

"So, Daniel – is it alright if I call you that? – what do you think about Up Here?" he finally got around to asking.

"It's Danny, and it's alright." Danny shrugged, looking around. They were walking down a covered outdoor pathway now, and despite how boring the office had been he was glad to see that there was more flavor to the actual building, even if it wasn't quite to his tastes. It was eclectic in his opinion, with dark cobblestone walkways, through which pale flowers sprung up between cracks, lined with white marble Ionic columns, while the actual walls themselves were made of red brick. Occasionally he caught glimpses of ornate fountains and statues wrought from gleaming metals. It was all very out of place, being situated in the middle of a vast cloudscape that was rather bleak looking despite the interesting formations. Danny idly wondered how everything was suspended on the clouds like this and how humans had not discovered it before; that last point was especially perplexing to him.

As they walked they started passing by more and more entities. Some looked completely human, like Danny himself in his current form, while others had strange features or just plain couldn't be described. Oddly enough, it made the halfa feel normal, something that he had not felt since becoming half-dead; after all, he may look and act human to those he kept his half-ghost identity a sectet to, but he could feel and had come to realize his differences quite some time ago.

A loud buzzing noise sent Danny jumping into the air with surprise, and he looked around wildly before his gaze alighted upon his companion taking out a cellphone (Danny had no clue where that came from, considering the fact that the guy was wearing a very simple white robe with nothing more than a robe belt around his ample waist and leather sandals on his feet) and answering it. He seemed to listen for a few moments, before nodding and hanging up with a 'be there soon'. He then turned to Danny.

"Look, I'm needed for a short while elsewhere. Will you be fine without me?" he asked.

"Yeah." Danny said. Having some time to himself would be nice, and it wasn't like he couldn't defend himself.

"Alright then, you be good and don't stray too far, alright?"

"Yes, mom." Danny rolled his eyes. He received an amused shake of the head before he was left alone.

Danny decided to explore on his own. After all, this was his first time in Up Here, wherever that was, apparently Up and Here (the last having the tendency to change depending on where you were, though), and considering the fact that it was where the Grim Reaper's bosses could be found it had to be interesting. At least, unless it was like the Grim Reaper's workplace, which he'd found even more boring than school.

He wandered off of the path towards a particularly large fountain. It was designed in the likeness of a man bearing a globe on his shoulders, water pouring down from the oceans. Had Danny had more appreciation for art and Greek mythology he probably would have had more respect for its fine craftsmanship and what it represented. As it was, he was did not particularly care for either of those things.

The half-ghost stared at it for a while, having the feeling that he should be getting _something _out of it, before dismissing it and walking off to find something more interesting. Maybe there was an arcade in this place; he wouldn't doubt it, having seen some very odd rooms in passing.

Absorbed in looking around and taking in the sites, he didn't even notice the person he was about to collide with until too late. Although had you asked him at first, he would have told you that he'd run into a wall.

"You alright there?" a voice that was deep and had a honey tone to it asked, and a hand entered Danny's line of sight. Following it with his gaze to the arm and up, he found himself staring at a large-muscled man.

"Oh, sorry." Danny said sheepishly after a couple of moments, accepting the hand up. He was surprised by how firm the grasp was, and returned it in kind. A booming laugh was earned.

"You've got a good grip, kid. Say, you're Danny Phantom, aren't you? Made a huge fuss up here, that you did; your Fate was so tangled that its taskmaster just gave up on it! One thing's for sure: you have a very interesting existence ahead of you."

"Uh . . . thanks?"

"The name's Atlas. Y'know, we're not so different, you and I."

Atlas, Atlas . . . why did that sound familiar? Danny looked from the man to the statue, and the connection was made. A vague recollection of what little he remembered from the Greek unit in middle school also came to mind.

"Err, is that so?"

"Yep," Atlas popped the p, "been around a lot and heard of your exploits. An inexperienced kid having to support his entire town and at times a whole world of ghosts? That sure is something, and I hear you pulled it off pretty admirably, too."

Danny flushed a bit under the compliments.

"Y'know what, I'm gonna make you my apprentice!"

Wait, WHAT?

If Danny had had his doubts on how good this was supposed to be before, they were only confirmed by the mutterings of shock and pity (for him) that were being transferred from bystander to bystander that had witnessed Atlas' proclamation.

"I'll run it by the Higher Higher Ups soon, and then we can start on your training!" Atlas beamed, not even bothering to wait for Danny's acceptance of his generous, one choice only, no money back guarantee offer.

Before Danny could even utter a protest in his defense the entity, that apparently appeared in Greek mythology, was already running off. His guide, who had heard what happened as he returned from the other entities, came up behind him and rested a hand on one of the halfa's shoulders.

"I leave for only a few minutes and you get yourself into a situation like this. You really are trouble, aren't you?" the guide commented.

"I blame my tangled Fate." Danny objected.

"Eh, that's why we generally don't allow pets Up Here. Cats get into Fate, dogs taint the waters of youth . . . you get the idea. And you don't even want to know what kind of trouble snakes can be."

"So you mean I can't get the puppy I've always wanted?"

"No."


	7. The Hitchhiker's Curse

**Disclaimer: I own neither Danny Phantom nor any other series that may show up in this collection.**

**Author's Note: Yeah . . . I really don't know what this is. I just wanted to practice writing in this kind of style, I guess. Sorry if you think it's the worst thing you've ever read. Anyway, there actually is a backstory and a future plot to this little thing, although it's doubtful I'll ever write it. Oh, and the hitchhiking boy is Danny in case you couldn't tell.**

Oneshot Six

The Hitchhiker's Curse

What are you doing, walking up to my home of cardboard and tin? It's going to be dark soon, you should run along home; bad things can happen in this park at night.

Oh, this little bauble that I'm holding? It's pretty, isn't it? I have no clue what it is, but I'm waiting for someone to reclaim it. Been waiting for over thirty years.

How do I know they'll come back? Because I'm sure they have all the time in the world. Fate works in strange ways, and I've never fought it.

Oh, now you want to hear the story? Well, I suppose it won't hurt.

I suppose it all started on March 14, 2012. Usually I'm not one for remembering dates, but I make an exception for this. Anyway, I was driving down this road; you know the one I'm talking about, the one that runs into town from the sticks.

Yeah, that's the one, the one that everyone claims is haunted, the one with all of the strange deaths that lead to people taking the roundabout way. Anyway, I was driving down this road, and I notice this young teenage boy walking along its side in the mud.

What little skin of his isn't dirty is pale as a ghost's, and his clothes are tattered and filthy. Normally I wouldn't let such a grubby little boy into my car, but he had looked up when I passed him by and I had caught sight of those eyes of his. Absolutely stunning and unique, and I'm not just talking about the color, although the color was remarkable. A brilliant blue, like the sky. Only the emotions in them weren't fit for such a color; they should have been grey, a much more powerful and tumultuous color, that. But no, they were blue, and it was amazing that that color could hold his soul, that his eyes hadn't shattered and spilled it out to overtake the world.

Were they really that strong, you ask? Please! Those were the eyes of someone who was never broken by hardship, only tempered; someone who could change the world, someone who already had. Actually, they remind me of yours, or at least the color, although it's difficult to tell in this gloaming.

So I stopped and unlocked the backdoors, rolling down my window and telling the boy to get in. Surprisingly, he doesn't question the order; just slides into the backseat as seemingly ignorant of the potential danger as if I were his mother. How strange, and stranger still that he never spoke even once during the entire drive.

Then the most startling thing happened! I arrived in town, and glancing back at the boy discovered that he was gone! Naturally I was freaked out, of course. I didn't stop once that entire car ride and I never heard the door open! It was as if he was a ghost, and that's what convinces me that he'll come back eventually.

Oh, right, you wanted to know how I got this curious little trinket. Pretty, isn't it? I found it wedged in the cushions of the backseat after he was gone, and to this day I still don't know whether or not that was intentional. On good days I'd like to think that it was, but on bad days sometimes I feel like it is a curse. After all, shortly after that day quickly lost my job, home, and even car.

You know, I don't know what it is. It's like a misshapen block of ice, only it's . . . not quite warm is the word, but it's not cold to the touch, and it doesn't melt. Weird green light inside of it too; it glows, you know, but doesn't move or dim at all, as if someone just froze it. Sometimes when I hold it, I feel as if I'm privy every secret in the world.

Well, you'd better be getting home now; it's night and you shouldn't let an old homeless woman keep you waiting.

Eh, what are you doing with that knife?


	8. Sunbathing Clockwork

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

**Warning: Clockwork in a Speedo. Oh yeah, and this ties in with Walk My Grave, although it probably won't be included in the actual story unless I can and want to somehow make it work.**

Oneshot Eight

Sunbathing Clockwork

His ghost sense wafting upwards nearly straight up from where he stood, Danny checked to see if anybody was watching him. Finding that no one was around, he went ghost and flew up, to be greeted by perhaps the strangest sight that he had ever come across, which was saying a lot.

"Err, Clockwork, what are you doing?" Danny asked bemusedly as he took in the sight of the omniscient ghost . . . who was currently lying on top of the Ops Center, dressed in nothing but a Speedo with sunglasses and a dab of – was that sunscreen? – smeared onto the bridge of his nose. Near the powerful ghost were gathered several Observants, who glared at him angrily as they shouted in his direction and at each other.

"Sunbathing, of course. Do you know how hard it is to a tan in the Ghost Zone? I'll tell you: impossible. Why else would my complexion be blue? Since nobody can stay in the Ghost Zone anymore, I figured now was a good chance to take this as a vacation." the Master of Time answered in a blasé fashion.

"Alright then . . . why are the Observants here, then?" the halfa inquired as he warily watched the one-eyed ghosts.

"Trying to hold council, of course."

"On top of my house which, if I may note, is the center of ghost hunting in Amity Park?"

Clockwork reached one of his hands up, grabbing his sunglasses and pulling them down to give Danny a deadpan stare that, frankly enough, made him feel stupid.

"Daniel, I know this fact very well. Even if I were not all-knowing, I am confident that the giant sign blaring 'Fentonworks' in neon letters would give it away."

"Ooookay then, I'm just going to . . . pretend this never happened." Danny said awkwardly.


	9. Simulacrum

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

**Author's Note: All right, this might be kinda weird, but I've had this idea brewing in my head for **_**months**_**, and when I saw the word simulacrum I had a sudden spark of inspiration and had to write this. It starts out with Danny, then his duplicate, and alternates back and forth between them from there. Underlined sentences are telepathic communication. I might come back to this idea one day and write an alternate, violent version.**

Oneshot Nine

Simulacrum

It had been a genius idea, really. As ghost attacks became more frequent his time spent in school had dwindled to almost nothing; as it was, he had about the same knowledge of subjects taught in high school as a student who had yet to enter this level of education. So really, what harm was there in creating a duplicate to take his place, absorb the knowledge, do his work?

He did not remember the first time he became aware of _himself_. As it was, he suspected that it was a gradual progression into an idea of self, rather than an epiphany. Of course, he had the same memories as the _real_ Danny – only, not quite. Eventually, things had started to change. Along the way, _real _Danny became mostly Phantom and he became . . . what? Who was to say that _real _Danny was the only real one? He was certainly real. At least, he thought he was.

He had not noticed the changes. It had started out as he expected: his grades improved, his teachers stopped harrying him about anything and everything that he just couldn't be bothered with (not when the town – family, friends, home, past, present, his entire life – came first), his parents no longer got on his case about things like his chores, and both they and his friends were pleased that they got to spend more time with him. Then . . . something happened. Next thing he knew he wasn't absorbing the memories of his duplicate's time, and even more frightening: sometimes he could swear that something wasn't right. He had only one body, that he was sure of, but it was almost as if there was another presence in his head, and it seemed as if it was growing stronger. Perhaps stronger wasn't the word: more aware of itself, bolder, more sentient.

The worst thing about his existence, he thought, was his lack of control over himself. Once it had been simple, in those days that were like a dream to him: he would be made and given his orders, and he would carry them out. In some way, he missed them; everything had been so less _complicated_. Sometimes he didn't want to be a complex entity, with a mind unto himself. Then his recently acquired sense of self would revolt against this way of thinking. No, he could not go back to that way, not when he had become aware. And yet, sometimes he thought that perhaps he wasn't really real, that perhaps this was a delusion and his entire existence was a lie (and in a way it was, a lie created for the sole purpose of the _real _Danny that was actually real.) He hated _real_ Danny.

Sometimes, he felt disgusted in himself, and utter revulsion that was not only incomprehensible but was downright _foreign_. During these occasions he had doubts whether his mind was really his own.

The first time he had discovered free will he had been terrified. Suddenly the world dropped from underneath him and he felt as if he were plummeting into a void, one where he floated without direction or sense. It had taken a while to start pushing the limits, to dip his toes in the wild waters of a separate fate, where he was _himself_ and nobody else.

He had been confused one day when he came home to be berated by his parents for playing hooky. Had his duplicate failed? He would try again tomorrow, and hope that nothing was off with his powers. Yet when he was heading to his room after the conversation, thinking to himself, a sudden, inexplicable fear welled up in him. He did not understand why this was so, either. It was almost as if he was terrified of being found out . . . but of what?

The worst part of his existence definitely had to be being fake. He was more than a persona but less than a person; he was an android, given his task and then left alone. It was terrifying, especially when the android's artificial intelligence became real intelligence. He knew he was real in mind, but not in body. Every day, _every single day_, his free will was torn from him as the _real _Danny absorbed him back into his being like the ectoplasmic offshoot that he was. Only, he wasn't just ectoplasm: he was DNA, mutated, but human all the same. When human, he had the same breath as the _real _Danny; flesh and nerves, blood coursing through with the pump of a beating heart fueled by breathing lungs.

The presence in his head had been growing heavier and heavier. It now felt too _real_, and he wanted it to stop. It was a heavy thing, a shadow constantly on his mind, _of_ his mind. He had found that it felt lighter when he duplicated himself, and took to doing so for much longer. Of course, two of him couldn't be out and about at once, so he took to alternating between when he and his duplicate were Fenton and when they were Phantom.

Freedom was more prevalent these days. It was still a mockery, though. He had to pretend, to be another real person when he was a real person of his own. His entire _life _– because really, he hadn't been _living_ for long – of frustration eventually grew to be too much, and one night he cut his binds loose.

I can't handle this anymore.

I know.

This is goodbye, I suppose.

Yeah; it wouldn't be a good idea to be seen together.

A second Danny, human teenager and ghost superhero, went walking that day in flesh and ectoplasm of his own. And he was himself, and nobody else.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note (again): Basically, the idea is that Danny starts making a duplicate of himself almost every day to balance his human and ghost lives. Over time, however, as his duplicate is left alone for a long time, it starts developing a consciousness of its own, which remains even when it reabsorbed into the original Danny.**


	10. His Heart

**Disclaimer: I own neither Danny Phantom nor Snow White and the Huntsman.**

Oneshot Ten

His Heart

Queen Ravenna tilted Danny's head up so that he would look at her directly. In an act of defiance though the boy let his eyes wander everywhere but to her face. Nevertheless, the tip of the metal claws in which her thumb and index finger were sheathed got a reflexive shudder from the youth, pressing against the sensitive skin of the underneath of his chin and of his throat just so.

He was still youthful, hardly a man yet, but his features were far fairer than any man's she had known. In fact, he could give _that accursed, wonderful_ treasure that was Snow White a run for her money. The queen's lips slid like blood across porcelain into a smirk, wondering what it would be like to still the beating of his heart. She had the feeling it would be far more satisfactory than the latest cretin's. This boy was too pretty and soft for this world.

The Wicked Queen placed a hand over the rebellious boy's chest, extending her magic out through his chest. Curiously enough, the boy tensed up and flinched, as if he could actually feel the viscous, feather-edged sensation of the dark magic seeping into his bloodstream. Then again, perhaps he could, for she could feel through it an arcane power that crawled and bubbled all throughout him, rubbing up against her power but not attacking it like it should against a foreign entity.

The dark magic of Ravenna reached his heart, coiling around it like a serpent and squeezing. She frowned as a moment passed, and then another with no result. Her eyes widened, mouth parting in realization, and she looked deep into the boy's eyes – he still refused to look at her, but that was fine, because the color of them reminded her too much of her homeland anyway – as she pressed her hand more firmly against his (surprisingly well-muscled for such a scrawny frame; perhaps this boy wasn't so soft after all) chest.

"Your heart, it does not beat. And yet here you are, standing before me." she breathed in wonder.

Danny did not like the intrigued look in her eyes, gleaming like a dagger's edge.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note: Yeah, I was going to write more preceding and succeeding this bit, but decided against it. Every time I tried to it always came out awfully. Anyway, basically this is an excerpt (sorry about the short length) from a Danny Phantom/Snow White and the Huntsman crossover I may write out completely in the future if nobody decides to adopt this idea. What happens is that Danny falls from a portal in the sky into the capital city of the kingdom, and he is mostly powerless because Vlad teamed up with Walker (and his goons), Technus, and Skulker to drain Danny of his power. He quickly runs into trouble with the guards, is taken to the queen, and then you see what happens next. Ravenna's interest has been piqued by Danny, and she is determined to find out how he can be dead and yet still walking around and everything at the same time, so she has him stay as a guest (who is treated well but isn't allowed to escape) in the castle. Danny, still powerless for the most part, meanwhile relies on feeding off of the ambient energy of Ravenna's magic to regain his energy, while unknowingly to him this is altering his own powers, causing them to become darker in nature. Yada yada yada, sorry for the huge rant, thank you Blue Eyed Phantom for your input.**


	11. Prisoner of Duty

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

**Note: I am not following the events and dialogue before Danny's portal accident exactly, if only because I can't remember them. Oh, and this is AU.**

**Prisoner of Duty**

**A New Half-Life**

Three teenagers stood together in the dim laboratory. Before them were the Fenton parents, excitement clear in the way they stood and the movements they made.

"This invention will pave the way to future studies in ghosts, children!" Jack declared boisterously, his wife beaming next to him with two cords in hand.

Although portraying an air of apathy in their stance and posture, the intensity in their eyes betrayed the interest the young teenagers had in this monumental occasion for the Fenton family. While ingenious inventors, Jack and Maddie Fenton's creations had little use; they did not have actual proof of the existence of ghosts save for a glowing green substance that looked more radioactive than otherworldly, let alone had caught one. Considering the fact that almost all of their inventions were centered around the understanding and deterring of ghosts, this wasn't a good thing.

This invention, however, was something on a completely different scale than any of their others though, first conceived in their college years and nearly twenty years later returned to with grander plans and a government grant, the latter because of the fact that it was based in actual science and had highly valuable potential applicability. It was the Fenton Ghost Portal, and if it were successful would connect the living world to the esoteric realm of ghosts, proving once and for all the existence of the other world and its denizens.

Danny did not particularly care for ghosts, but he knew that this invention was his parents' pride and joy and desperately wanted for it to work, if only to make them happy (of course, the fact that it would prove that they were not lunatics would be a bonus, since being an awkward, scrawny teenager with parents that were laughingstocks had made him a loser in the social hierarchy of school, effectively shooting his chances of entering the A-List to nothing.) Sam on the other hand was very intrigued by the existence of the spirits of the dead and hoped that the portal would work. After all, ghosts were pretty gothic. As for Tucker, he did not care for the actual reason for the portal (after all, it wasn't like ghosts actually existed, let alone a whole separate dimension for them) so much as he did for the portal itself; regardless of its purpose, it was a highly sophisticated piece of technology that he just itched to dissect and understand, which reminded him that he so had to get his hands on the blueprints for it later.

Jack and Maddie exchanged fond glances, obvious even with most of the Fenton matriarch's face covered, and they leaned in closer to one another. They had gone through so much together, and the both of them would now activate the culmination of their life since college of research and inventing. Jack took Maddie's hands in his own, which swamped hers, and together made the final move to power up the Fenton Ghost Portal, which in their own words was practically like a third child to them.

The tell-tale loud hum of electricity rose up, setting already tense nerves on edge, and the five people gathered in the lab unconsciously leaned forwards (out of the direct path of the portal though, Maddie having warned what happened to Vlad, hers and Jack's closest friend in college) gazes locked and intense on the gaping hole in the wall.

The electrical sound became even louder, and then, _there!_ A brilliant green flare! A tongue of ectoplasmic electricity, a green color without compare, crackled in the portal. It leapt from the walls and jumped close to the ground, sparking and fizzling out as the electric whine rapidly softened to a quiet but steady background noise that was nearly indistinguishable from that of all the other electrical appliances to be found in the lab.

Dejected, the Fenton parents dropped the cord and slunk away, being too devastated for any words. They appeared slumped over, as if trying to hold the bitter feeling of their failure from escaping them, their bowed heads making their actual expressions impossible to make out.

Danny and his friends watched them trudge up the stairs and out of sight, followed by the sound of a door shutting. The blue-eyed boy felt a heavy weight settle in his gut.

"Man, I've never seen your parents so depressed." Tucker stated callously, although his expression was sympathetic.

"Yeah, I know. I wish there was something I could do to cheer them up." Danny commented off-handedly with a sigh, eyes still fixated on the stairs. Sam's gaze, however, remained locked solely on the non-functioning portal.

"Then why don't you try to fix it?" she suggested. Her voice was slow and seemed as if she were speaking from a distance, as she stared with startling fixation at the failed invention.

"What!" Danny exclaimed, crossing his arms in front of him and shaking his head furiously. His attention slid from his best female friend to the portal, and something about it made him shudder. In a way, the fact that it was broken and empty seemed worse to him than the possibility of having an actual portal to a realm of (un?)dead monsters in the basement of his home. It was just ominous; its shadowed depths almost seemed to whisper to him, of a treacherous future in which an obfuscating fog hung over everything. Danny could almost feel a dead chill creeping over him and unconsciously rubbed his arms, as if to wipe the sensation off.

"I mean, why not?" by now Sam had turned back to him, and there was an odd twinkle in her eyes. Had Danny not been taken aback by her sudden proposition, he would have noted that it was almost as if she was possessed, like his parents mentioned ghosts were capable of.

"I'm not a techno-geek, Sam; that's Tucker!" Danny tried objected, really not wanting to get caught up in with the ghost portal. It had seemed cool before, but since failing it now just seemed creepy and maybe dangerous also. Like a sleeping dragon; harmless at the moment, but with the possibility of suddenly endangering them at any moment. Besides, if his parents weren't capable of getting the portal right, what chance did Danny, who had never stood out in anything, have of fixing it?

. . . Mr. Lancer's lessons were really rubbing off of him, he thought.

"Hey, I resent that! And no, I am not going anywhere near that thing; who knows how dangerous it could be?" Tucker piped up, fervently rejecting the diversion that Danny was using of him to take Sam's current focus.

"That's why you'll wear this. Besides, your parents' blueprints are supposedly correct; it's most likely a loose wire or something that's wrong." Sam was rummaging in a closet set just a little off from the portal entrance, and flung something white and limp at Danny, who only just caught it in his arms. He grimaced when he identified what it was: the jumpsuit that his parents had custom-made for him just a month ago, declaring that as the heir to the Fenton name and with the ghost portal almost finished that they would make a ghost hunter out of him yet. Danny had avoided his parents for several days after that and had not even touched the suit. Sam wanted him to wear this of all things?

"Really now?" he asked with a tone of disbelief, holding up the jumpsuit that was specially designed to protect its wearer against abrasive injuries, chemical spills, and especially exposure to ectoplasm. A blinding flash of yellow-white light went off suddenly for just a moment, and after Danny blinked away the violet spots dancing in front of his vision saw Sam standing there with a camera and a grin on her face.

"Come on, please? For me?" Sam pouted, turning big eyes on him. Danny's resolve melted away. Even if he wouldn't admit or even recognized it, he did have a crush on her, and he simply couldn't resist a request of hers when made in such a fashion. Actually, this was quite a surprise, as typically when she wanted someone to do something she would threaten (or commit) the act of kicking them in the shins. And with those steel-toed combat boots of hers, that hurt.

"Fine." sullenly, Danny pulled on the suit, marveling in the way it did not feel uncomfortable with his clothes on nor bunch up oddly even as he zipped the front up. There was also no noticeable crease where the zipper was. To complete the deal he also pulled on the black gloves and boots – both surprisingly tight but maneuverable – that accented the white body of the suit, along with snapping on at his waist a black belt designed to have small equipment like ectoplasmic handguns strapped onto it. He idly wondered how much the entire ensemble must have cost, knowing that the company that produced them made every one custom and met the demands of his parents (include the ectoplasm resistance. Danny supposed that money had more sway than apparent state of mind.)

"Hold on." Sam said and walked up to Danny, placing her hand on his chest. He blushed at the sudden action, even if he couldn't feel her touch save for its pressure through the thin but durable material he wore. Then, with a faint sound of something peeling off she pulled her hand back to hold up a large sticker of a caricature of Jack Fenton's face to Danny.

"You can't go around with that on, even in the privacy of your own home." she explained. Danny groaned as Tucker snickered, although he still stood off a bit, his stance expressing the unease he felt with the situation. His expression dropped once more, and he approached Danny with an awkward shuffle to his step.

"Dude, I really don't think you should do this." Tucker warned, shifting his feet. It was clear that his eyes desired to roam anywhere but to make contact with his friend's, but he stood his ground and met Danny's blue gaze.

"What's the worst that can happen? Besides, who knows what cool things exist on the other side?" the other boy waved off his friend's worries. There was definitely a shake to his tone of voice, uncertainty of the action he was going to take clear, but he had already consented. Sam would never let him live it down if he backed off. Besides, he thought it was pretty impressive that he was braving the portal, and the desire to explore the unknown had been the main reason he had set his dreams at being an astronaut. To go bravely forth where no man has gone before; what would the history books say of him if a dimension of ghosts really did exist and he paved the road into its exploration?

. . . Well, so long as they didn't turn out to be homicidal, evil creatures like his parents warned and ended up invading the world, he would say his reputation would be a good one. Hopefully.

"Just be careful then. The power is still on, after all." the techno-geek said solemnly. He'd rather Danny not go in there at all and leave it to someone who understood what they were looking at, like Danny's parents. But . . . it wasn't really working anyway, and it wasn't like anything bad could really happen.

"Yeah, and save for a little flash of light it did absolutely nothing. But I will be, so don't worry." Danny rolled his eyes at Tucker's concern, even though he was touched by the gesture (not that he'd admit it.)

Reassured by his friend's conviction and promise, Tucker nodded.

His friends' encouragement – or at least acceptance of what he was about to do, in Tucker's case – pushing him on, Danny turned around and strode over to the portal until he stood right before it. He stopped then, doubt stilling his legs. It was much larger and darker this close up, and from what little he could see into the portal he could make out many thick wires strewn across the floor like disemboweled entrails. A slight shudder wracked the teenager's scrawny frame at the thought, like prey before a ravenous carnivore. That wasn't a reassuring thought, especially since the hole-in-the-wall did kind of look like a mouth when his eyes were squinted.

Looking over one of his shoulders Danny saw his friends and the expectation written over their faces. Even Tucker, who was reluctant about the whole idea, was edging him on with his expression, wanting to see what would happen. Danny's shoulders drooped and he exhaled a soft sigh; he had already come this far, hadn't he? He might as well carry on.

"Well, here goes."

With that declaration, he entered the portal. The electrical sound became louder, humming incessantly in his ears and surrounding him. Danny felt that if he spent too long in the portal it might just drive him mad. He dragged his gloved left hand unfeelingly along a wall of the portal to keep his bearing as it became dark to the point that he could make out nothing but indistinct shadows.

So far so good.

A sudden jolt of adrenaline lanced through Danny's body and his heart started pounding like crazy as a foot caught on one of the many treacherous wires lying around. He flung an arm out to steady himself, and while he did not feel the button underneath his hand as he smacked it due to the gloves he wore, he could feel the sudden depression as it sunk in under his forceful touch.

The electrical noise accelerated into an intense whine that was akin to a scream as a faint white light swirled into being at the back of the portal, throwing the interior of the portal into high relief, including the button labeled OFF and the one next to it that was covered by Danny's hand, over which was the word ON . . .

**LINE BREAK**

Danny had barely registered what had happened, and the horror had only just started setting in when a bright flash of green-tinted white light overwhelmed his entire being. A lance of blistering and impossibly agonizing pain raced up the hand and arm that had made contact with the button. He could feel it crawling over his body, digging into his pores and swimming through his body, as a powerful blunt force accompanied by a solid green substance hit him and sent his form, stock-still, flying through the portal. Danny could feel it, every last cell giving way to a deathly cold that was as burning as the pain like bare skin that had been in contact with snow for a long time only so much worse. His breath fled from his lungs and his heart stilled, replaced by a steady pulse of chill in the center of his chest.

Then it was over, and Danny was sent shooting at a neck-breaking speed, tumbling head over heels for many cycles without cognition – being far too dazed and disoriented – until his momentum gradually died down before it gave out entirely. He fell forward and sprawled onto his hands and knees, his limbs shaking feebly. Danny's form was wracked with strong tremors from the ordeal and he stung fiercely all over, but all he could think about was how thankful he was to be alive. The cold coalesced in his chest was a relief, flooding him with a soothing cool feeling that numbed the pain from the electrical shock he had received. Then there was the air itself, which seemed to be saturated with a sort of ambient energy that he could actually sense, like as if it were thrumming like the constant presence of electricity at standby in the Fenton Laboratory . . . both the cold and energy felt right; natural and comforting in that, like the steady rise and fall of his chest. If he had chosen to linger on this unnatural change Danny might have been disconcerted or even disturbed – after all, his chest was not moving with the act of breathing – but as it was he did not get the chance, for at that moment the sound of heavy footfalls alerted him to somebody approaching.

_Sam._

Danny thought assuredly. Beside his father, Sam had the loudest steps that Danny knew of thanks to the combat boots she wore combined with the fact that she was always stomping out of anger over something and everything more often than not.

The thought of his close friend made him remember warmth, of blood coursing through his veins with every strong beat of his heart.

_Lub-dub_.

His heart started beating then, pitifully faint, but living nonetheless, a spot of heat and movement in his too-still body. The pervasive chill receded back into the spot of energetic (if that was the right way to put it) ice. Danny gasped loudly (and winced when the action strained his ragged throat) as a powerful tingle ran through him, as if he were rapidly defrosting.

"_Well_, what do we have here? I thought it was just a brat, but now I find myself with valuable prey!" a strange voice – definitely not Sam – met Danny's ears with a rumbling chuckle.

**LINE BREAK**

Skulker had felt it, as every ghost in the Ghost Zone had: an intense suction as if their entire world was being drawn in by a vacuum, only for it to jar to a stop after several drawn out moments and leave them disoriented. That wasn't all though, for next thing they knew a backlash of energy had lashed out and rocked their world. The ripples of the energy wave carried on throughout the Ghost Zone.

And with the aftereffects they had detected an unfamiliar ecto-signature, one that seemed oddly tainted – or perhaps not tainted, but too lively. Yet despite this quality even they could tell that, though it was the signature of a new ghost, it was unusually powerful.

The hunter did not care that the ecto-signature was a strange mix of repulsive and drawing with its unusual vivacity, all he knew was that it was extraordinary because of that and surely must belong to some rare specimen. In other words, he had to have it for his collection. It was with that thought in mind that the mechanical suit's wings snapped out from his suit and he flew off with a trail of ectoplasmic residue streaming behind him, out to quell his curiosity.

Skulker arrived at the source of the peculiar ecto-signature, and was surprised to see a scrawny ghost kid sprawled onto a chunk of earth, his body smoking slightly. Hmm, not what he had expected, but he wouldn't underestimate him since, after all, Technus was a dweeb and could still achieve some pretty impressive things when he put that brain of his to work. The self-proclaimed greatest hunter of the Ghost Zone heaved a sigh, knowing that he would at least have to help the poor kid get some strength before he actually hunted him, as it would tarnish his reputation if he were to strike his prey while it was weak and not of his doing. No one would make a fool of Skulker if he could help him; that had been his drive, to acquire his powerful battle suit to accommodate for his less-than-impressive physical stature and to hunt creatures of all kind, showing that he was not a ghost to mess with.

He descended onto the piece of earth with a thud, his suit's wings folding onto his back as he approached the boy, a Jack o' Lantern grin stretching wide over his metallic visage. Just as he neared the small body however, he inhaled sharply and stepped back, for two brilliant halos of white had spread over the child's form, turning him into – a human?

Skulker announced his presence then with a biting remark, although he still kept his weapons away. After all, it was just a whelp and he had to help him before he could capture him in a glorious chase.

**LINE BREAK**

They were not alone. Most of the denizens of the Ghost Zone were staying away from the source of the disruption in their realm, not wanting to risk the potential chance of coming across something that was more than they could bite off. But not Skulker, whose pursuit of unique specimens would surely lead to the end of his existence one day.

Not Walker and his minions either. As far as the warden of the Ghost Zone's most infamous and general prison was concerned, such an anomaly was against the Rules, and he would see that whatever caused it was brought into his parameters of justice.

And of course, it was an anomaly of the utmost degree. After all, he had just arrived to catch sight of the ghost whose ecto-signature was sensed all throughout the dimension turning into a human. Now that was just against the laws of nature, ghost or otherwise! Unfortunately, the Rules didn't cover the laws of nature, seeing that this was the Ghost Zone, where they didn't exist, were warped, or were just plain ignored. Now he would have to consider updating his book to include them, though.

"Warden, should we arrest him? And Skulker, who is currently wanted for the act hunting of endangered creatures and in unauthorized zones?" Bullet, Walker's deputy, inquired of his superior. The skull-faced ghost mused on this, rubbing his chin between one of his thumbs and index fingers as he thought while staring at the robotic hunter and collapsed child.

"Not quite yet. I would like to see how this plays out; perhaps there is something we can gain from this. Inform the others to hold their fire at the present time." Walker ordered.

"Yes sir." Bullet spread the order to the other minions that had come out to the scene with him and Walker.

Walker started watching the exchange between Skulker and the unknown halfa.

**LINE BREAK**

Danny shivered where he lay, wondering why it had gotten colder all of a sudden. A tendril of fogged breath escaped unnoticed from his lips. Then a voice distracted him, and he perked up with worry. That was definitely not Sam, although the boots resembled hers. Craning his head up, a yelp rose in his throat only to be strangled as he choked on his surprise. The cold stung his throat, and there was a strange taste to the air that was . . . sweet? It wasn't a good sweet, though; it was cloying and stuck to the roof of his mouth, like a dying flower.

Of course, that surprise didn't compare to who – or rather, what – stood before him. It was a bulky construct of blue-grey metal, human shaped – was it an android? His parents had come up with androids and gynoids of sorts, but this was far more advanced he could tell with his single, short glance – and oddly enough was dressed in rather typical looking clothes, albeit all black with metal accessories and a skull-adorned choker. The weirdest thing about it though was its hair (although Danny had to wonder how and why an android had hair.) It was made of fire and green in color. It actually looked kind of cool, but he had no idea how any of this was possible.

Oh, wait, this had to be a dream. There was no explanation. Danny snorted, blaming his friendship with Sam and Tucker that, of all the things he could have dreamed about, he had conjured up a goth android. Apparently, the actually somewhat intimidating android took offense to this action of his, if the way the android's mohawk flared and his visage twisted into a scowl – an impressive feat, considering his metal face did not look pliant.

"You dare laugh at the Ghost Zone's greatest hunter, Skulker?" he bellowed, which had Danny chuckling. Looked like even his parents were influencing his dreams now.

"That is the cheesiest thing I have ever heard, and I'm friends with Tucker!" he winced at the hoarseness of his voice, and a hand rose to the teenager's throat and rubbed it, wondering why it hurt so badly to speak. He swallowed, now quite aware of the pain.

Skulker's expression only darkened, and now he pointed an arm at Danny. The hand at the end was curled into a fist, and from the gauntlet rose out an ectoplasmic gun that activated with a whirring whine and a green light. Danny stared into the barrel of the weapon, the sound it made and the way it lit up reminding him of the . . .

. . . the ghost portal.

Oh. Shit.

Danny, hardly aware of what he was doing, raised a hand and pinched one of his cheeks hard, eyes widening as he felt the pain of the fingernails digging into his skin. A vague recollection of the recent events whipped through Danny's mind: the portal looming before him; the buzz of electricity that grew louder and louder; shuddered at the remembrance of cold and pain – a shriek resounding all around him that could stop the heart. A green glow flickered into his eyes as all of this came back to him, followed by a flash of light around Danny's midsection that, when it faded away, left him a ghost once more, not that the half-ghost was aware of this.

"If you're energetic enough to make banter with me, then I suppose you can manage a hunt with your head as the prize, hm?" a menacing rictus backed up the ghost's – who was pleased that his quarry had taken up his more powerful form once more – threat, and Danny scuttled back, wincing at how the action made his body ache but otherwise paying the soreness no heed, as the discomfort had nothing on the prospect of his life.

He had to get out of here, get through the portal. Warn his parents and get the guns ready. He should have believed them; they were smart and obviously knew what they were doing. But how could he when ghosts were never there? They belonged in campfire stories, like how murder belonged in the news and cheating in high school gossip. Ghosts were never something that a person was supposed to be affected by, like all of those other things.

Danny cringed at the expression that remained fixed on the hunter's face, and tore his gaze away from the unwavering green one before him to look behind him, to the portal.

Only nothing was there. Where was the portal?

Where?

He noticed now, for the first time also, the dark swirls of colors and shades, an expanse of broken earth in a space without top or bottom.

No portal. He was lost, and at the business end of an unpleasant-looking weapon in the possession of an evil ghost.

"Not so much spunk now, eh?" the ghost laughed with twisted mirth, the energy composing the green pits that were his eyes coiling with cruel amusement, "what's wrong, aren't going to run? So be it, you may prove to be good entertainment in the future."

With that, Skulker stepped towards Danny, reaching down with his currently unarmed hand to pick him up.

Before he could do so, however, a few green shots blasted him a few feet to the side. The ghost stumbled and shook his head to rid himself of the disorienting effect of the concussive force of the attack – not powerful enough to do more but eat through his wife-beater shirt and leave scorch marks on his metallic body. Whipping his head around, his eyes widened as he caught sight of several armored ghosts arranged in a half-circle and focusing ectoplasmic batons at him, while the infamous white figure that was the ghost warden stood just a bit behind them.

Danny followed Skulker's gaze to the ghosts that had confronted them, and his jaw dropped. Not just one ghost, but he had to come across more? But the way they had attacked Skulker, were they helping him?

**LINE BREAK**

Walker had watched the interplay between Skulker and the unidentified half-ghost with surprising patience, what with his reputation of jumping the gun when it came to the persecution of individuals who broke his Rules or whom he had been scorned by. Half-ghosts, or halfas as termed colloquially, were very rare though. With their only knowledge of them being the shadowy but ruthless Plasmius, it was best to take caution in this case.

With the hostile actions of Skulker however, it would appear that intervening before the situation became too ugly was prudent.

"Men, get into your positions, half-ring." Walker ordered, and his private militiamen did so, albeit their numbers were too small to form enclose the rogue hunter as he would have desired. Had he known that the bi-annual inspective patrol of the Ghost Zone would have turned out like this, he would have definitely brought a force of at least twice as many strong.

"Right flank, fire once at Skulker! Avoid hitting the boy!" he barked when Skulker came too near the halfa for his liking. The three minions on his right side did so, and Walker saw with satisfaction that the three blasts had all hit their mark and distracted their target. Ah, he saw the way that Skulker's expression changed, and relished it. It pleased him that even the "Ghost Zone's mightiest hunter", who admittedly did have a good arsenal of weapons and respect by the general community but did not respect the Rules, was cowed by his presence.

"Skulker, you are under arrest for breaking hunting regulations and trespassing! Relinquish your weapons and come quietly, or we will subjugate you with force!" Bullet demanded. Skulker hesitated, still taken aback, before he sneered at the authorities and activated his wings, darting off in the opposite direction.

"Bullet, take the left flank and give pursuit, I will handle the circumstances here." Walker instructed his deputy, who saluted before towing the three minions that had not shot into the conflict after Skulker.

"You are to act as my backup; you shall not take initiative. Is that clear?" Walker asked of the remaining goons, eyes narrowed to get across his point with an unstated warning. They nodded eagerly, following after Walker as he floated towards the saved half-ghost boy.

He neared just as the boy was picking himself up, dusting his suit off with a bemused expression on his face. When the halfa noticed the warden's approach however, he tensed up. For a moment, Walker was half-certain that the half-dead boy would either attack or make a break for it, but when he did nothing but eye him warily, Walker put those concerns to the side for now. It seemed as if the boy was willing to give a meeting with him a chance, and Walker knew that he had to handle the situation carefully lest he either flight-or-fight.

Surprisingly, the boy decided to take the first step in contact.

"Err, thanks for that. I'm Danny. What was up with that anyway?" there was a pause, and then, "You're not going to attack me also, are you?"

**LINE BREAK**

Danny noticed that the oddly expressive skull of the new ghost – who really stood out with his white suit and weird black hat – made a move that looked remarkably as if he were thinning his lips at that last question. He waited for a response, standing his ground and prepared to flee if this ghost made any move to attack him. He wouldn't be caught off-guard again like with that Skulker guy, especially around _ghosts_, of all creatures.

"I am Walker, warden of the prison. Skulker is a wanted individual, and you yourself don't look to be in such a good position at the current time. Disrupting the peace and breaking the laws of nature. However, I am not going to attack you unless you give me good reason to." the new ghost stated. His tone was dry and blunt, with a slight threat when it came to informing Danny of his current standing. However, the mere fact that he was being told something straight-out by an adult – even a dead one, odd as that was – and given a chance was a refreshing change. With his parents and teachers it had always been that they would come to their own conclusions or take only the other side's account of things, which quite frankly stung. Besides, this guy was a prison warden and had saved him, which definitely had him as good in Danny's book so far.

"All right then, if you just point me back to my parents' portal – can't miss it, big, metal, hexagonal – I'll get out of your hair." Danny smiled sheepishly at Walker, hoping that he could just get home without further incident. Or just get home, really. The smile was not reciprocated.

"I am afraid that is impossible. Not only are the whereabouts of your portal back unknown, but allowing you to return would be against the Rules." Walker explained matter-of-factly, watching as the smile slipped rapidly from the halfa's face, to be replaced by a frown.

"What, but why!" he exclaimed, already thinking that it was necessary to revise his opinion of this ghost in front of him, who had seemed like a pretty okay guy before.

"Because supernatural entities are not allowed to go to the human realm." the warden had to hold back a sigh, exasperated with the obstinate behavior Danny. It was understandable, but nevertheless vexing.

"But I'm a human!" was Danny's objection.

"Not now, you aren't. At the very most you have the ability to take on a human form." Walker decided that it was better to just spill the beans, than to lead the boy on about his current state of living. Really, he would come to accept it, and if all went well would be a boon to his prison force.

"What?" Danny asked in disbelief, although the portal accident rose unbidden to the front of his mind once more.

"I suggest you take a closer look at yourself." too bad he didn't have a mirror, as Walker was sure the effect that would have on Danny would be far better than seeing a currently faint glow around his body.

Danny, refusing to believe what Walker said, looked down at himself. The colors of his suit had reversed, sure, the now black body of it becoming so dark that it seemed to absorb light, whereas his white gloves and boots could put snow to shame in their pureness of color, but what of it? It wasn't that unusual if one put aside the fact that their coloring used to be reversed. He was about to look back up and shout at the warden when something caught his eye, and he squinted to get a better look. Was that . . . no way! He was actually glowing! Danny's head snapped back up, looking up at the taller ghost with wide, fearful eyes that were an impossible green to be human.

"I'm dead?" his voice was small and quivering.

"No, not quite. You're a very rare entity, known here as a halfa. Half human, half ghost. Nevertheless, you may not return to your world."

Danny attempted to wrap his head around the concept of being between life and death, or existing as both at once, whatever, but unable to do so just shook his head and shot Walker a glare at his denying his return home.

"Why not?"

"Because ectoplasmic beings do not belong among the living." Walker nearly snapped, his expression becoming displeased.

Danny opened his mouth to object once more, and the ghost warden cut him off there.

"It would not work out. You are half-dead, you are not like them. Your powers will start developing, and they will be unstable at first. You're not going to be able to hide the changes, and at best you will be killed fully; at worst, you will be taken to a lab and carved up like a frog. You won't be human to them. Do you get this?" his tone was frustrated as he attempted to drill this into the thick head of the half-dead boy before him.

Predictably, the half-ghost blanched, especially as it hit home that he was – apparently, although he was inclined to agree after that shock he received and his changed physiology – not quite living. Worse, Danny was part ghost, and his parents were obsessed with ghosts! Never before had they caught one simply because they had never come across them before, so Danny thought; what were the chances that they wouldn't leap at dissecting and tearing him apart molecule-by-molecule?

"What do I do now?" Danny asked quietly, and Walker barely heard him. However, he was quite pleased by what he did hear, although he made sure not to show it.

"If you come with me, I can give you what you need. I actually have a proposition that I would like to discuss with you, if you do choose to come with me to my prison." the warden offered.

Danny mulled over this for a few moments. Really, what other choice did he have? Really, it was fortunate that, of all the ghosts he could come across, that it was Walker that he had met so soon after coming to this wretched realm. So Danny nodded, and allowed himself to be led by Walker to the penitentiary.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note:**

**My first time writing a lot of these characters. The chapter ended up shorter than I expected because I ended up scrapping some stuff and eventually rewriting the whole thing, but I'm pleased with it, especially for something written in two days. All feedback would be greatly appreciated, especially since I do plan to continue this story (probably soon), and would like to know how to improve it.**

**P.S. For the last entry of this collection, 'His Heart', a reviewer brought up the fact that I went with 'oh he's so hot'. I did that on purpose not for the sake of let's make the main character hot. After all, if anyone here has seen Snow White and the Huntsman, they will note that pretty much everyone in it is filthy and probably not in the best of health. Whereas Danny is really clean in comparison, is well-fed and taken care of (to a certain extent), and has probably developed some muscle mass from his many fights (I'm of the opinion that, even if Danny's ghost strength doesn't transfer over to his human form even at all, that at least the actions he takes carry over.) Nevertheless, I would like to thank the reviewer for pointing this out, since I was actually concerned how it was sounding and now know how I should make it better.**


	12. Harry Potter and the HalfGhost Prince

**Disclaimer: I own neither Danny Phantom nor Harry Potter.**

**Author's Note: This story was originally going to be quite different. Remember that most of the stories in this collection are adoptable, and one needs only to ask and receive my permission to adopt one.**

Oneshot Twelve

Harry Potter and the Half-Ghost Prince

Upon his first ever look into the Ghost Portal, Danny had had the impression that it was a dark and gaping mouth, waiting patiently with the knowledge that it would come to greedily swallow him up eventually. Danny had been correct, and had lost to it everything but half of his life, the clothes on his back, and a single thermos.

**LINE BREAK**

_Danny fell heavily, his face colliding painfully with the smooth lab floor and jarring his thoughts. He'd had worse, but that was physically . . . this was so much different, so much more painful as the knife of betrayal made the first incision into his chest, digging with accurate strokes toward his heart. He rolled cumbersomely onto his side, the cold metal pressing against his cheek warm against his colder skin and providing no relief for the swelling bruise that was already purpling across his face. Something welled and shifted irritatingly in his mouth and he spat, noting that it was blood – as red and human as anyone living's – and chips of teeth that were expelled with the action._

_He looked up, his blue eyes reflecting green from the angry whining charge of the ghost hunting weapon aimed at his face._

_The halfa opened his mouth . . . _

And screamed.

"Hey, kid, are you alright?" a voice inquired, breaking through the muddled haze of weariness and confusion that he was in. A moment later a firm but gentle hand alighted on one of Danny's shoulders and carefully shook him; had it not been for the voice, he almost definitely would have panicked and reflexively attacked. As it was, he merely jolted back, groaning as his head thumped against a slightly hard headrest and brought him back completely to reality.

Blinking rapidly, Danny's vision cleared from the vestiges of sleep, to find a few faces staring into his own with expressions of concern that, while genuine, were distant in the comfortable way that strangers' were.

"Uh, yeah, just a nightmare." Danny sheepishly slipped a hand under the collar of his black turtleneck sweater and rubbed the back of his neck, thankful that even though the bruises – in the form of a great handprint with curling fingers that dwarfed his thin neck – marring the skin there, though faint, had yet to fade away completely it didn't hurt anymore. Danny definitely couldn't bring himself to hate his supernatural abilities, not when they came with rapid healing.

"Right then. Well, we've arrived." the man sitting next to him, the one that had posed the question, stated with a touch of gruffness that was the result of uncertainty. How was one supposed to react to a teenager all on his own saying that he'd had a nightmare? He cast the boy a scrutinizing stare, and took note of his state for the first real time since boarding the plane. The teenager was very pale – although that could be attributed to his unpleasant rest – and had a rather scrawny and jumpy look to him; who knew that a kid like that could have such an earsplitting voice? Heavy shadows were under his eyes, and his hair seemed dull and hung limply into his face.

"You sure you're alright?" he asked dubiously, having his doubts.

"Yes." Danny replied, a bit of teenage surliness entering his voice.

"Have anyone waiting for you?"

At this, Danny smiled thinly, as if uncertain.

"My father."

Satisfied, his fellow passenger _finally _left him alone. After picking up his carry-on Danny also disembarked the plane, entering the airport.

**LINE BREAK**

Professors Flitwick and Sprout, along with the Auror (sure to be promoted soon, although the Ministry was still a flurry of activity at the moment) Kingsley Shacklebolt waited nervously in the airport terminal. Well, the two professors were nervous; Shacklebolt held himself with a dignified aloofness befitting a man of his station and experience in the Muggle world.

"Professor Sprout," the Auror spoke up, attempting to distract the somewhat frightened witch, who was fairly reclusive and had hardly had much experience with even places such as Diagon Alley, let alone a bustling airport, "do you by any chance know what this kid looks like? I could not find any photographic or painted evidence of him."

The Herbology professor shook her head, hair like a steel sponge flying around her face with the action.

"No, the only evidence we have of him existing is a short mention of in one of the journals we found, the letters, and the genealogy tree at Gringotts. Cost us an arm and a leg to get the goblins to show us that. Did you know that Severus was directly descended from the Prince line?"

**LINE BREAK**

_Many people had died throughout the duration of the Second Wizarding War, a large number during the Final Battle. As it was, entire families had been driven extinct and it was up to anyone who had connections with the now dead individuals to sort out their post-death affairs. Among these numbers was Severus Snape, and it was up to his colleagues to take care of this business that his family if he'd had one would have attended to. Among them, the job ended up going to Pomona Sprout and Filius Flitwick, who were deemed as the most knowledgeable of Severus and least likely to let bias get in the way of their duty._

_And so it was that the Herbology and Charms professors found themselves at Spinner's End, a less than charming dwelling in a rundown Muggle neighborhood. Filius, with his keen knowledge of wards, had managed to circumvent the security wards placed on the building so that they could enter._

_As befitting of the deceased Potions Master, his home was impeccably neat. However, it was as ramshackle as it was outside, with ugly mismatched furniture and dust that covered every surface and choked the air. There was also a distinct lack of any defining features, save for some potions equipment and a veritable library of books. Obviously Professor Snape rarely concerned himself with Spinner's End, if the state it was in was any indication._

_The two got to work, using magic to clean much of the interior before going on to sort any private affairs. They packed up the potions ingredients, cauldrons, and stirring rods with the intent of donating them to the Hogwarts stores, and not having much else to go on decided to go on to the many books._

_Overall, it took several hours. They would skim each book to get an idea of the content and, if legally and morally acceptable, packed them up to donate to various institutions. Many books were found to be Dark or of questionable subject, and were set off to the side to deal with later. Sometime into this process, Pomona found something of interest._

"_Filius! It's a journal!" she exclaimed to the Charms professor._

"_We have found many of Severus' handwritten potions and spells journals." Flitwick pointed out._

"_Yes, but this is a personal one." it was the first discovery of the kind, and the half-goblin professor's attention was immediately hooked._

"_Really?" he asked, intrigued. Perhaps this was a chance to learn more about their reclusive colleague._

"_Are you that it is right to invade his privacy like this, though?" the Herbology professor was torn between her own curiosity and this dilemma. Flitwick appeared to be in thought for several moments. He then took his wand and waved it over the worn leather-bound journal, mumbling underneath his breath._

"_I believe so. If he was objectionable to it then he would have placed a different ward on it." he reasoned._

"_Oh?" clearly, Professor Sprout was waiting for him to elaborate._

"_There is quite a powerful ward placed on it, an impressive one really, but its sole design is to act as a notice-me-not for anyone with a Dark Mark who has not been keyed into the wards. Very intricate, I doubt Severus could have achieved it by himself."_

_A moment of silence stretched between the two as they considered that, and then they cracked open the journal and took a glimpse into the introverted Potions Master's mind._

_About halfway through the journal, there was a section that held them in disbelief._

"_To think! He had a wife! I wonder why we never heard of this before." Pomona breathed, her eyes wide with surprise._

"_As he said, it was an arranged marriage. Still, surely word would have gotten around if there was a Mrs. Snape in Wizarding Britain."_

_As neither of them knew how to explain this missing element, they continued reading with the hope of finding closure to this mystery. It took a while in coming – actually to the very end of the journal – but they eventually received it._

'_It has been several years since I even gave Rebecca consideration. When I discovered that she was with child – mine, I still find it difficult to imagine – I had sent her overseas with instructions to leave it at an orphanage. I would not have any child of mine caught in this war and forced into servitude to the Dark Lord because of my position, after all. It was quite to my surprise, then, that I received an owl not too long ago from my apparent son, seeking sanctuary on the sole basis of shared blood. I do not know what would drive him to do so, but continued correspondence suggested he had come into some sort of serious conflict with his adoptive parents. Attempts to ward his request off with warnings of danger were merely answered with some vague references that he was not unaccustomed to mortal danger. Seeing no point in arguing – the boy has shown in his letters to be stubborn to the point of being infuriatingly so – and I have no doubt that he would track me down whether I consent to his being here or not, I could at least offer him my home as a shelter. Hopefully the war will end soon and I can deal with him without being under duress.'_

"_Does he still have these letters?" Sprout inquired, intrigued by this possible son of Snape's based on what little information they had gotten from the journal entry concerning him._

"_We'll keep working and see if we find anything." Filius said determinably, and the professors got back to sorting out the collection of books. Eventually they were finished with that task, not finding much more of interest, and moved on to Snape's study. Flitwick had to break a few more wards on various pieces of furniture, especially the drawers of the single desk in it. In one of them he found a wooden box with some simple carvings ornamenting its surface, and pulled the lid off to reveal a small pile of letters. The wax had been broken on all of them, and the two professors read through them. They were written in an untidy scrawl, Muggle ballpoint pen on thin lined paper, which was quite a novelty to the professors, so used were they to quills and parchment._

_Although they were missing half of the correspondence – Professor Snape's half – they could get from this side of it that the boy was named Danny and came from a town called Amity Park, in the United States of America. He had only just learned about the Wizarding World from a trusted friend (although he had not answered his biological father's inquiries as to this individual's identity) and that he was a wizard. This confused the Hogwarts professors for a moment, before they recalled that the wizards and witches of the Americas were organized into secretive covens unregulated by any official magical governments, and that integration into these covens was typically through family members or family friends. Of course, there was the Salem Witches Institution, but it was only a recent development in magical America and only open to witches at that. With Danny being Muggle-raised, as he had made clear in his first letter, he would not have been made aware of the magical half of the world._

_Apparently, this Danny kid had also only made contact with his real father after being chased out of his house, something that was caused by powers he possessed. Although he did not elaborate on the subject, Pomona and Filius chalked it down to magic and his adoptive parents not accepting of it. It was a tragic, but not uncommon, circumstance with Muggleborns._

"_Snape was supposed to pick him up on the first of August from the airport nearby." Professor Flitwick pointed out in one of the last letters that the disowned teenager had sent Snape._

"_That's in only a few days. We'd best organize something. Poor boy." the Herbology professor's voice was tinged with sympathy for the Muggle-raised son of Severus that they had yet to meet._

_Filius nodded his agreement. They worked a bit more, and at the end of it headed off to make arrangements with Headmistress McGonagall and the Ministry of Magic._

**LINE BREAK**

"It figures that the man would keep secrets even in death." Kingsley remarked, although the Herbology professor's attention was no longer on him.

"Filius! Get back over here!" Pomona called out to her colleague, noting his disappearance as he went off to explore some fascinating Muggle innovations. The Charms professor returned and Sprout took the sign from him, holding it up far higher than the diminutive man could.

**LINE BREAK**

Danny disembarked the plane, carrying nothing but his Fenton Thermos and with no luggage to pick up from the baggage reclaim. Although he preferred not to think about why that was, he was glad that he could at least skip that hassle of airplane travel. Had he not had an entire ocean to cross, the half-ghost would have much rather had flown to his destination under his own power.

He stopped in the terminal, looking around through the throngs of people before he caught sight of a sign stating SNAPE in big capital letters. He headed over that way, and saw a trio of people: a tiny and elderly man, a kindly-looking woman who seemed fairly old, and a black man (African British?) who seemed imposing even in the foreign appearing and brightly colored robes that he wore. He doubted any of them were his biological father, but approached them nonetheless.

"Err, hi, I'm Danny. Danny Fe- I mean, Snape." Danny swore internally at how much he was tripping over his words. Way to go in making a first impression. Then again, he had only decided to abandon the surname he had used all of his life and take on the one of his real father instead.

"A pleasure to meet you." the woman smiled at him, the action deepening the smile lines and crow's feet of her face. The older man gave an excited squeak and grabbed his hand to give him a short but vigorous shake that took Danny off-guard, while the younger one nodded at him and then offered his hand for Danny to accept for a handshake, which he did.

"Daniel Snape? I am Auror Shacklebolt, and these two are Professors Sprout and Flitwick. They will be two of your teachers at your new school." Kingsley introduced all of them respectively.

"Oh, okay then. Was Severus too busy to pick me up then?" still not actually acquainted with the man who'd left him in an orphanage on an entirely different continent, Danny had decided that it would be too awkward to address him so familiarly as even father, hence calling him by his first name instead. Even though he didn't really know him though, he still felt twinges of disappointment when he realized that he had not even come to retrieve him from the airport.

The three adults exchanged glances, unsure somewhat pained expressions on their faces. It was Professor Sprout who decided to address the situation, stepping up to stand before the disowned teenager.

"Mr. Snape, I'm afraid your father passed away a short time ago." she winced as she said this to him.

"He died a noble death as a hero." Shacklebolt offered. He wasn't sure on the details, but Harry Potter had vouched for the infamous professor's heroics.

Danny was torn between being shocked and mirthless laughter. It figured that he would be disowned (putting it lightly) and find a new place with his biological father, only to arrive to his dying not too long ago! People said life was unfair; Danny thought half-life must be so much more, then.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note: I actually have this whole story planned out, but I'm not sure I'll ever get around to writing it. Even if I did, this chapter alone would require major revision. I'm not sure if this is adoptable, since I have actually finished most of the planning and quite a few minute details for it, but I'm willing to change my mind on that matter if convinced. Anyway, this is a boring chapter of this story; the rest of the story has a lot of Danny-hating by students and adults alike planned out.**


	13. Regret

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

Oneshot Thirteen

Regret

Being immortal, we cannot feel regret – at least, not genuinely. It is not in our nature to dwell on the past, after all, because when one has time eternal time becomes a blur and memories long past buried when no longer relevant.

I am glad that I do not remember my life because of this. But sometimes I wonder: did I forget upon manifesting as a ghost, or have those memories merely been forgotten to make way for the new and yet still fleeting? I dare not attempt to part the fogs of time and discover the answer.

I pity Danny: half-boy and half-ghost, a mortal mind with an immortal body. He won't forget his life since he is still a part of it, even when it passes him by.

Most of all, I regret not being able to turn back the clock and prevent this fate for him, because it was necessary that he become a Phantom among humans. Nor can I relinquish this emotion, for the boy is my responsibility and will carry through eternity with the rest of my kind.

It is a burden I will have to bear.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note: Sooooo . . . I think the character is Clockwork, and I think that this is a tie-in with Twenty Years. This was written in ten minutes and really came out of nowhere, but what prompted it was a random thought about The Last Unicorn.**


	14. Traumatizing

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

Oneshot Fourteen

Traumatizing

Later in the day, Danny decided to see if Clockwork and the Observants were still on top of the Fenton Ops Center. Sure enough they were, only he was met with an even worse sight than before: the Observants were pulling off their robes, to reveal Speedos and bikinis underneath.

It was traumatizing.

"Clockwork, what the heck is going on!" Danny exclaimed.

"The Observants finally realized that they are not going to achieve anything productive what with their bickering and thus decided to make a vacation of this situation also. Although I must say, that orange bikini really isn't flattering with her skin color." Clockwork observed, eliciting a glare from the Observant wearing the aforementioned swimwear.

That was it. Danny decided that he had to get all of the ghosts back in the Ghost Zone, his grave or not. He was just about to fly away when a thought occurred to him.

"Do you guys always wear swimsuits underneath your robes?" he asked bemusedly.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note: The mysteries of life. This was inspired by Dragonian master.**


	15. Breathe

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

Oneshot Fifteen

Breathe

It is night, and I'm in my element. But it's not only mine, and I'm all too aware of this.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

The phantom poised on the roof edge exhales, its breath ruffling the pearlescent bangs hanging in its face. I raise an eyebrow at this before I realize it, surprised that the specter displayed such human – forget that, _living_ – mannerisms when he need not to. Hmm, it is probably still a newly formed ghost, clinging to the unconscious actions that defined it when alive. Although unusual, I had encountered such ghosts before. They were the hardest to put down, those that still tried to remain true to their former selves. Nevertheless, it is necessary that I carry through with this: ghosts are pests, nothing but detrimental to humans, and pests must be exterminated.

This mortal world is for the living, and shades of the past do not belong.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

I pause to allow my gaze to linger once more on the entity. Had I not been all too aware of its true nature (_a nightmare come all too true, limned in eldritch green and stained black in the night_) I might have been as swayed by this particular spirit as so many people in this town before have been caught up in its spell. I must admit, in all my years of expertise and many wanders, I had never come across such a curious ghost. No ghost looked so human, the ectoplasm of their dimension warping their images as they first formed and then altering them even further as they eventually (_always_) forsook their humanity.

It is as if the Ghost Zone had left this one particular ghost pure.

_Breathe in, breathe out_.

It is something I would like to believe in. Unbidden, memories (_phantoms of the past_) rise to the fore of my mind. My mother's screams and the towering shadow, as spiny as the stem of a rose and oozing a malevolence that manifested itself into an unholy aura that wrapped around it like a cloak. How it glided over the floorboards of my home towards me.

I shudder and grab my throat, remembering the feel of claws so frigid that they burned wrapping around my slender neck. How the evil spirit had looked into blue eyes that had once been a mirror of its own, the red slits gleaming with some sort of dark mirth, and an even darker promise.

_Breathe in, breathe out_.

Rage consumes my mind in an inferno, and I reposition my aim after having allowed my weapon to drop. _Never again._

Gritting my teeth into an imitation of a smile (_lacking amusement, I know that it's more of a baring of teeth; it's one of many reasons why people avoid me_) I pull the trigger. I hardly notice that recoil, watching as if everything depended on it the beam of energy race towards its target.

It collides with a painful-sounding zap followed almost immediately by an echoing scream, and I take satisfaction in watching my prey light up with electricity. It teeters uncertainly, like a coin spinning unsteadily on its side, and after a bated moment the form drops to the merciless ground below.

I watch and it is as if the world has entered slow-motion. In the back of my mind a funny snippet of thought fleets through, comparing the falling phantom to an angel tumbling from heaven.

And there's the halo. In a flash of beautiful light (_how anything that can produce such a light could be evil I will never know, but evil comes in many forms_) it forms and splits over the descending entity, reducing it to something completely else: a human boy, of all things.

The impact is gruesome. I watch, moments dragging into eternities, but the mangled torso does not rise with the intake of a breath.

Horror. It defines me completely and utterly in this moment of time. Then shame followed by denial. Incapable of bearing the confusion, or guilt, or any of the myriads of emotions named and not I flee. It's not so much a decision than an impulse. My feet and legs carry me through the maze of brick and concrete (_too dark, too narrow; the buildings tower over me, judging me with dark windows for eyes_) and I can almost feel the wind rushing past strip everything from me until I collapse, out of breath and sure that my heart is about to give out.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

I can feel the arctic touch of claws at my throat, rough but almost caressing, and eyes like glimmering pools of blood assessing me.

Evil comes in many forms indeed.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note:**

**Alright, so this was completely random. I seriously had no plans to write a oneshot tonight, or indeed anytime soon. Then I had sudden inspiration from nowhere. So yeah, this was an experimental thing, trying to work with an unnamed OC and give them background while keeping to the present and maintaining some vagueness. There's no real purpose to this oneshot, I just wanted to get it out.**


	16. The Veil

**Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Danny Phantom.**

**Author's Note: AU warning ahead. This is also in Danny's point of view.**

Oneshot Sixteen

The Veil

My parents aren't just eccentric, they're out-of-their-minds crazy. My mom and dad are the best scientists and inventors around, and yet despite this our family is nearly destitute because my parents don't have real jobs. Oh, they'd like you to believe that they do, but as far as the sane population is concerned ghost hunting is not a real profession. Because ghosts don't freaking exist, and they can't get this through their thick heads! Even the eight year old who used to live across the street from us before we moved thought it was silly that my parents believe in them!

And that's another thing, The Move. We still live in the same town, and not even that far from our old house. Our old house wasn't that bad of a place, either; I mean, it was one of those cookie-cutter two-story brick buildings, and it had some funky stains, but it was home. Jazz constantly complained about it, but pitched a hissy fit when she saw just where we were moving into. Mom claims that we moved into our new house because it's more conducive to hers and Dad's research. I think that means we couldn't afford the rent on the old place any longer. This place is way cheaper, despite being much larger and complete with a huge yard, and for good reason.

It is a frickin' dump. Our new home is an old, Victorian-style manor (I think; I honestly can't give a damn about that sort of stuff, but I bet Sam would know) in an out-of-the-way part of town, with a once-painted-white-porch that wraps around the perimeter with rotting beams and railing. Oh, and did I mention that there are less planks than there are holes in it? I swear I saw something crawling through the wood once – and the sad thing is that I've seen worse inside the house to the point that this hardly fazes me anymore.

I'm honestly concerned for my life here. I feel like the sagging roof is going to come tumbling down on me at any moment, or that the creaky floor will give beneath my feet and send me falling into some dark space beneath the house. In fact, I bet I would stumble upon a Native American burial ground if that happened. And the less said about the gnawing and skittering sounds in the walls the better.

Yeah, this place would make a great 'haunted house' attraction. The only problem with that is that it doesn't meet safety standards, most likely. Heck, I have no clue how it's alright that we're being allowed to live here. The cynical part of me is shouting that the town either doesn't care or would actually be thankful if something bad happened to my parents here. After all, even if it wasn't their reputation as crazy ghost hunters marring the town, then it would be that they make the roads a hazard with their driving and have broken and entered on the basis of hunting ghosts more times than one can count on all their fingers.

A sudden dimming of the lighting distracted me from my thoughts. Looking up, I caught sight of dark clouds roiling overhead, much to my surprise. It had been fairly decent until just recently.

Returning to my thoughts of home, now would be a good time to head back.

I trudge my way through the familiar streets from the mall, cursing the fact that I didn't bring my electric scooter, which had been salvaged from the dump and fixed up by my friend, Tucker. Passing some jocks as they enjoy some milkshakes gotten from the nearby Nasty Burger it stings to hear the jeers directed at me, but I brush them off. Well, not so much brush off as bottle the impotent indignity I feel. Anyway, at least I can say that I no longer lose my cool and just make a better idiot of myself and earn a black-eye in the process.

Eventually I go down a worn and narrow road, recognizing that I am nearing home as buildings become fewer and further apart) and the trees thicken. I walk by a weathered sign that has new paint slapped across the old to spell out FENTON over a name too worn to make out before I enter a wood, which is unusually and inexplicably dark even for this drab day. Almost all of the trees are dead and reach out as if grasping at me with spindly branches like claws. As I pass, it seems as if the shadows shift to form leering faces on their gnarled trunks.

Fortunately it doesn't take me too long to get through, though the sight at the end of the journey isn't very heartening. A large clearing of chest-high grass and weeds is what greets me, and my new home in the middle of it. I groan, following a trail of flattened grass to its cause: an old van, its garish paint faded, right in front of the house.

Mom and Dad are home, joy. I thought they were supposed to be at some supernatural convention that was being held over this weekend.

I release a resigned sigh and walk over the convenient path in the grass that Dad made with his driving to the house (I insist that it is _not_ my home, and it never will be, thank you very much) and carefully pick my way across the porch. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I only stepped on one loose plank and didn't break any of them.

Before I can even reach for the door handle it flies open and next thing I know I'm flinching away as a barrage of salt greets me.

"Begone, evil spirit!" more salt is chucked at me.

"Jack!" a motherly voice comes to my rescue, and I open my eyes to see my parents – dressed in their usual jumpsuits adorned with weird ornaments that they made themselves – before me.

Dad finally stops, much to my relief. No matter how many times he does that to me and everyone else I'll never get used to it. And really, who else but my dad would carry several handfuls of salt around wherever he goes? I don't even have a clue as to where he keeps it, since it always seems to come out of nowhere.

"Eh, you're not a ghost." my Dad blinks owlishly at me.

"No duh! What are you two even doing here; I thought you were supposed to be at that stupid convention of yours." I snap as I push past my father's bulk and step into the decrepit. Dad and Mom gave a start at that.

"The convention!" apparently they forgot about it. They're suddenly rushing about like an upset hive of bees, gathering up random supplies and running out the door and into the van. Soon the van is started up and pulling out, and disappears into the woods.

Yes, finally! Don't get me wrong, I love my parents, I just can't stand them for long. Besides, now that I'm deemed old enough to be fine on my own (albeit Jazz is here, but she'll just stay in her room reading the entire time) that means I'm free to do whatever I want! If I actually had more friends than just two, and didn't live in a total dive of a house, I would totally be throwing a party right now. As it is, I'm going to settle with gorging myself on junk food and exploring the rooms that mom and dad forbade Jazz and I from going into.

What they don't know won't hurt them.

I gingerly shut the front door. It's a heavy door and the hinges are in desperate need of oiling. The doorjamb is slightly bent out of shape, and it takes me throwing my entire weight against the door to get it to fit completely into place. Once that is done I throw my arms up into the air and whoop, the sound carrying through the vast and mostly empty house. It feels almost sacrilegious making such noise here, which I blame on the possible Native American burial ground that could be under the floorboards.

Considering the fact that a shout doesn't meet my outburst, it's safe to say that Jazz is out of the house. That means no one to get in the way of my exploration, awesome. I'd never really explored the house, keeping mainly to the foyer and some hallways, the kitchen, and my bedroom. Actually, I mostly just stay out of the house even if it means bumming around town with nothing to do. It's better than staying holed up in my musty room, which you have to climb up a long flight of rickety stairs to get to.

I start wandering around the ground floor, and as I pass a window – half of it is boarded up, and the other half is still made of glass albeit dingy – I notice that it had been good judgment on my part to return home when I did. Fat raindrops are now falling from the sky like bullets from a machine gun, and through cracks in the planks nailed over the window I can feel the chill air. Wanting to get a better feel for the weather I opened the intact half of the window. It feels heavy outside, and I can detect traces of thunder in the mass of clouds overhead. I pulled myself back inside completely and shut the window.

Soon I forget about the brewing storm in favor of my exploration of the house. Poking into rooms, I find that most of them are empty. Others have tarnished candelabra covered in wax long hardened, or antique furniture covered in white sheets that didn't protect them against being chewed on. Everything – from the peeling wallpaper to what remains of old inhabitants – absolutely reeks of opulence. I wonder what happened to make this place become abandoned and ruined for so long.

Coming to a heavy door painted black, I notice deep gouges revealing the wood beneath the paint, and some of them almost go straight through the thick door. The doors in this house are old ones, made much more solidly than modern doors. Even with generations of pest infestations, they are still very durable (albeit we should be thankful that there aren't any termite infestations here.) What the heck could have caused such damage? I skim my fingers over the scars, and a shudder wracks my body. It looked kind of like it had been formed by an axe of sorts.

Seeing several chips of wood from the door strewn about, I pick them up, turning them over in my hands and trying to match them to their proper places. On one of the particularly large pieces is an X painted in red. It was probably a vivid color a long time ago, but definitely not anymore. I wonder what it means. People don't just go around painted X's on doors for nothing, after all.

I wrench at the door, expecting a fight, only to my surprise it swings open very smoothly, my unnecessary force causing me to topple back. I pick myself up off of the floor – an action I'm all too used to, between bullies and my Dad – and brush some more dust off that had settled on my clothes. This dust has been around for ages, and even though my family has been here for a week we haven't even made progress in clearing it away. Mom and Dad have been too busy with their stupid ghost stuff, we can't hire a cleaning service due to the costs being above our budget, and Jazz and I can't be bothered when we avoid this place as much as possible.

You know, there's something I should have kept in mind when exploring creepy old houses that were abandoned and had doors that looked like an ax-murderer got to them: that there probably has been an ax-murderer in this house at some point.

As evidenced by the bloodstains.

Yeah, and I'm not talking about accidentally slicing one's finger while chopping vegetables, either. This is complete 'a murderer corners a family and makes the most of slaughtering them' bloodstains, and I'm not exaggerating either. They're all over the floors and walls! Looking up I can even see dark stains on the ceiling!

I want to back out of the room _right now_. Before I can, however, something catches my attention in a shadowy corner of the room. I step closer, taking great caution to avoid the blood staining the moth-eaten oriental carpet, and scoff when I discover what it is. It's another one of my parents' stupid contraptions. I'm actually offended that they would construct that in a room that people obviously died in, if the amount of blood is any evidence. Only they would be so inconsiderate as to not leave alone the place that some misfortunate people met a gruesome end.

Actually, that's probably why they built it here. Something about better receptivity to spiritual activities due to strong emotional discharge in dying moments, or some hogwash like that. You see what I mean by my parents being embarrassing? They go to murder scenes brandishing talismans and some equipment made to record spiritual images and audio clips, stake out graveyards and throw salt and other things to banish ghosts about, and have no regard for private property. It's just plain insulting.

Anyway, back to the contraption they put together, motley is a good way to describe it. It has a shiny frame of iron or something was a lot of copper wiring wrapped around it, to the point where the iron itself can hardly be discerned. It's mostly circular in the shape, but at the top of it are four spikes. One of these spikes extends way further up than the others, and following it with my eyes I gape to see that my parents punched holes in the ceilings and even the roof – which is covered where the spike isn't piercing through it with a blue tarp – to allow it to extend into the sky. How the heck did I not notice my parents making this?

Thunder booms, and I'm startled by how close it sounds. The storm must have worsened.

I cast my gaze back to the thing my parents made. Hey, so that's what happened to the television screen! I can't believe it! It figures that one of them – probably Dad, but Mom can be pretty crazy at times (as her belief in ghosts solidifies) – would destroy the only TV that we have for another insane invention centering on ghosts.

Figuring that Tucker may be able to put our television back together (heh, maybe? He will undoubtedly make it better than before), I take reach out to take hold of the screen. Although I don't know it, lightning has struck the veritable lightning rod that the spike extending up at the same moment that my hand touches the screen and the metal frame. What I do know is pain: intense, searing pain that I have had nothing to even compare it with. No, it's not pain, it exceeds that. It feels as if every cell of my body is burning, and I can hear a faint scream that seems to come from a distance.

And then I die.

**LINE BREAK**

At least, I thought I did, but I must have thought wrong if I am thinking. This realization startles me into full consciousness, and I sit up with a yelp of surprise, only to wince as the action strains my raw throat.

Had it all been a dream? A very vivid dream? But then a ghost of pain runs over my body like tingly static shocks, and my eyes widened. No, something happened. I slowly stand, stumbling and nearly falling over as every muscle protests. Not only that, but . . . I don't know, I feel really light, almost airy. It's a somewhat surreal feeling, and for a moment I don't doubt that I could fly if I wanted to. Then I chuckle at the silly notion, and start taking catalogue of my body.

I look completely normal. Well, unusually pale even for me, but otherwise normal. Even my clothes appear normal. At least, this impression continues until I reach my hands, where I have to choke back on the bile that rushes up my throat.

They're hideously burned, dark reds and blacks on the palms with brighter red extending out from there, stopping shy of my fingertips and wrists. I want to scream, but the start of it makes me cough, and I remember my ragged throat. However, the brief distraction makes me forget my burns, and I raise my hands to rub my throat in a soothing fashion. After a few moments of this I pause, then whip one of my hands up in front of my face. Sure enough, it's still burnt. Warily, I waggle the fingers. Huh, they have complete motion and I don't feel any pain. With my other hand I poke the worst area of the burn, and cringe at the feeling. It's not that it hurts, but I could feel that yes, it did exist. No matter what, a burn that looks this bad can't be superficial. So what gives? I press my palms together. I haven't lost feeling there, but there's still no pain.

Okay, things are getting freaky here. I stay preoccupied with this discovery for a while, before a wisp of what feels like arctic wind brushes against my cheek, and I can't help but sigh. It's very cold, but it's soothing. I look up to the source of the sensation, and my eyes widen. The television screen is activated somehow, and static flickers all across it. As I focus on it in disbelief however, the static starts resolving itself into something else . . . and I fall down once more – albeit my landing hardly produces a sound despite the creaky floorboards, yet another thing to add to the list of freaky things happening to me – as I see faint humanoid images meandering over it. Some appear very close, and others far away, and still some move nearer and some further away.

I stare in shock at the screen for several long moments, until I feel a tap on my shoulder. I crane my head up to see who it is.

Let's just say it's someone – or rather, something – that I never expected to ever see.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note:**

**Not my best writing, but I love this idea (I actually had this oneshot mostly finished a bit over a week ago, but was too lazy to write out the last bit at the time.) Albeit if I actually write it out, this chapter will undergo heavy revision as I come up with a concrete set of characteristics for the ghosts in this AU. Anyway, I decided to go with a more traditional take on ghosts (with heavy adaptation of my personal view of them). In this AU Danny's ghostliness is also far more prominent; rather than having two forms, his body exists in a state of limbo between life and death, which shows itself both physiologically and psychologically. Also, not many people can see and/or hear/touch/etc. (let's not get into the senses of smell and taste) ghosts unless the ghosts choose them to. These people are ones with a "sixth sense" for ghosts, so to speak, and usually this sixth sense only manifests as hearing ghosts. Jack and Maddie have the ability to feel when ghosts are near, which is why they are so convinced that ghosts exist, and this will play a key role in how it defines interactions of theirs with Danny after he becomes half-ghost. Danny, being a half-ghost can interact with ghosts as easily as he can with humans, which makes him an anomaly (not that he isn't already one.), and in addition has ghost abilities and a death wound (the burns on his hands.) There will be way more interaction with ghosts than just fighting in this AU.**

**Oh, and expect to see another addition (and maybe more) to Spue in this AU. I kinda left you all on a cliffhanger and I'd rather not leave it like that. Wow, long author's note. Sorry about that, but I wanted to clarify my plans and see what people think. Review please?**


	17. Chocolate

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom**

Oneshot Seventeen

Chocolate

When Danny was younger he used to be a fiend for sweets. Chocolate especially. If there was any chocolate in the house (and what fights he and his father would get into over them) it was usually gone within an hour.

He recalled that as he grew older his taste for it faded away. The cravings didn't, though. Even now Danny would still greedily snatch up any chocolate he could get his hands on, cramming it into his mouth.

Danny found though that he couldn't enjoy it like he used to, even though the urge to consume it still urged him pressingly to eat it. It was bitter, he decided, the disappointment. The failure to recapture what had once been, a sensation that ghosted in his mouth and left an awful taste.

Now Danny found himself comparing his old life to chocolate. He wanted it _so badly_, but knew that he couldn't return to it. He'd had enough experience to know that it would just be bitter.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note: Ha . . . I really should have uploaded the second chapter of The Veil. It's been completely written out for a week, give or take a little. I just **_**really**_** don't want to have to bother typing it up from my notebook. My handwriting is very pretty, it's just obnoxious to decipher.**


	18. Crush

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

Oneshot Eighteen

Crush

Danny knew that his crush would never be reciprocated, that it was stupid to hold, but he couldn't help it. She was so alluring.

There was something about how mature she was along with her sharp tongue. He found it irresistibly attractive; she was the only woman who could ever best him in a battle of words.

Yes, Danny was irrevocably head-over-heels for Penelope Spectra.

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, show of hands: who thought that this would actually be DannyxSam? I don't write romance, enough said. But crack romance, as long as it doesn't actually contain romance, I can work with. And no, I don't support Danny/Spectra. Vlad/Spectra on the other hand I am interested in reading if ever written.**


	19. Ruin

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom**

Oneshot Nineteen

Ruin

It was dark despite being midday, a heavy cover of umber smog obscuring all sight of the sky. A small band of purposeful individuals picked their way through the ruins of a city. Their features were indistinct, with jumpsuits in muted colors covering their entire bodies, while visors – glass-like, being clear and smooth save for a few cylindrical protrusions that looked to be made of plastic – closed their faces off. All of them were armed with some manner of strange weapon, ranging from an eclectic construction of junk metal looking about ready to fall apart to sleek and dangerous. Floating alongside the humans in a stuttering fashion was a squat blue ghost who looked worse for the wear, an ugly collection of scars mutilating his face and a metal band that glowed faintly digging into his neck with nasty-looking hooks embedded into the skin.

"So this is where it all began." one of the women breathed as she took in their surroundings, her voice carrying over the team radio communications.

"Yes, if Boxy is keeping his word here. Isn't that right, Boxy?" one of the men, a lean and mean looking guy growled softly, shooting a glare at their ectoplasmic prisoner.

The Box Ghost leapt up into the air, wincing at the small shock he received for the sudden action via the band.

"Yes, of course it is! This is where _he_ is." the ghost's voice dropped to a hush as he trembled; whether from the shock or the subject matter was up for debate.

"If you're not telling the truth . . ." the threat hung in the air before the one who spoke fiddled with a device strapped to their left wrist. Words popped up onto his visor.

"Confirmation: an ecto-signature has been detected. It's muted, but the energy level has been determined as a steady 7.2."

That was the only prompting needed for work to begin. The hardened bunch of humans carved at the ground with precision-oriented ectoplasmic-based energy rays and with mundane shovels. The earth was reluctant to yield beneath their efforts, but with time on their side their objective was eventually reached with the chink of metal hitting something hard that wasn't another rock. Spurned into a new frenzy of action with that positive note, their end was shortly revealed: a long metallic case, oddly intact despite the passing of years. Green stones that had a sickly glow to them were placed at the corners, the only adornment to the otherwise still-white material.

"The halfa." was whispered by someone almost reverently, and even the Box Ghost seemed keen on the proceedings. He recalled better times, ones that had rapidly crumbled with the absence of his greatest nemesis.

It had started out as a legend, its origins lost to all living memory. Of a ghost that was more than just a ghost, but a human; one who had balanced the two worlds in the now distant time before the Ruin. The legend told of a human with ghost powers – or perhaps a ghost with a human heart and conscience – that had protected the humans where they themselves could not.

The small group of desperate people hefted the strange casket from its unmarked grave and scrabbled all over its surface. Incapable of finding a way to open it, they ended up resorting to a carefully-aimed strong blast of ectoplasmic energy that blew the lid of the casket away along with the stones in the corners.

A flash of brilliant blue light flared out and everybody turned away to shield their eyes. They remained so for a moment longer, before a loud, sputtering drawn breath – similar to breathing after having come close to drowning – came from its direction. All heads snapped to watch just when a scrawny human-looking form gripped the now-warped sides of the casket and pulled itself up into a sit. His blue eyes started growing wider as he took in his surroundings, and it took only a matter of seconds for his gaze to alight upon the strangely-clad figures and . . . was that the Box Ghost?

"The fuck?" the filter between his mouth and brain absent in his shock, the first two words that Danny Fenton – also known as Danny Phantom – had spoken in centuries were sufficient if not eloquent ones in response to where he had found himself.

"Phantom?" one of the men asked gruffly after an awkward silence.

The halfa's eyes grew wide and he started spurting out objections.

"Cut-it, you're not a human. And I don't know of any ghost that can pull off such a good human disguise. You're the Phantom." he ordered, and in spite of himself Danny could feel himself recoiling from the harsh tone that the man spoke in and the grim appearances of him and his companions. Perhaps even more pressing was the Box Ghost's state; the only time the halfa had encountered damage that a ghost could not fully recover from was when he had seen Dan's ghostly victims.

"Err, yes?" Danny was thankful that his voice was not quite a squeak. Even with his admission he was tensing, preparing to move at a moment's notice. After all, these people had obviously done something horrible to the Box Ghost, so who was to say that they wouldn't to him?

"Come with us. You will stay with at least one of us at all times and obey our every command."

"Hey, don't I get a say in this!" the teenager objected, only to end up staring down the barrel of a gun that – while unfamiliar in design – was obviously for the purpose of injuring ghosts.

"You will do as you are told or else." growing short with Danny – man did this guy have a short-temper, and the halfa hoped it wasn't the same with all of these strangers – the man that had apparently taken control said this in a promising tone that was like a controlled snarl.

Danny gulped, and found that he could only nod in response. Nevertheless, the man found this an appeasing enough response, for he allowed his weapon to fall slack and gestured brusquely for the half-ghost to come along with him and his comrades. Danny stumbled out of the casket – still disoriented – and tagged along. Too busy taking in these . . . ghost hunters? . . . and the unfamiliar surroundings, he didn't notice the look of pity that the Box Ghost sent him.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note:**

**Horrible addition. Ah well, it was just a quick write anyway . . . if you include writing 250 words and then the rest all in not even an hour roughly six months later a quick write.**


	20. Drive

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

Oneshot Twenty

Drive

Mr. Lancer allowed his eyes to rove over the small number of students seated at the small desks. In the furthest corner from him were the jocks, who had taken to glowering before falling into an easy camaraderie with one another. There was "Spike", staring without really seeming to see outside the window. Finally there was Danny, sullenly tracing the grain of the wood of the desk in front of him.

"Shouldn't you be working on homework, Mr. Fenton? If I recall correctly, your missing four assignments this week in my English class alone is what earned you this detention." the teacher stated drily, only to receive a shrug from Danny.

"I lost the makeup sheets." the scrawny freshman said.

Scoffing at what was either just an excuse or further evidence of the child's serious lack of organizational skills, Mr. Lancer returned to grading the papers in front of him even as he silently sighed. He had no desire to punish his students like this, and certainly did not want to see them fail. Why couldn't they just realize what needed to be done and do it? Unless they had a learning disability, there was nothing that serious studying – perhaps with the aid of a tutor – couldn't help.

What teenagers lacked these days was drive. And not just 'I want to go to college'; no, what they needed was a real purpose, something that they felt was right for them to do. Now just look at Danny Phantom: perhaps it was unfair to compare living teenagers to a ghostly one – one who had the single-mindedness of his spectral kind with none of the responsibilities that humans had – but that didn't mean they couldn't take a leaf from his book. Mr. Lancer was actually a little bit of a fan of the young ghost, even if he would never admit it to anyone.

It was clear that the ghost didn't mean anyone any harm, even if the ghost hunters couldn't look past the barrels of their guns to see it. What really won him over to the teacher though was his drive. Now that boy had a resolute belief in what he was doing and stuck to it!

Looking up from his papers, the only adult in the room had to hide the disdain he felt for these children who thought that life would always be a mindless drifting on the support of their parents. It was strongest when his gaze alighted on Daniel, who didn't seem to do anything and still couldn't be bothered to do his work. Mr. Lancer felt that students like those were just thumbing their noses at all of the hard work he and his colleagues went through every day.

Seeing the black-haired boy raise his head the teacher looked back down at his papers. What he would give to have a student like Danny Phantom in his class.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note: Lol. Written very quickly.**


	21. Maneater

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

Oneshot Twenty-One

Maneater

She doesn't remember when the cravings start. She suspected that it snuck up as subtly on her as the feeling of fizzling energy that coursed along with blood through her veins, always growling softly in her ears.

Despite what others may think, she wasn't completely dumb. She was the only one to notice that Fenton and Phantom had some sort of connection, after all. The changes had been noticeable after a few days, when she had been looking into a mirror, thinking of her latest conquest in flirting at the time.

Her teeth had sharpened at the thought, pupils slitting as she smirked with daggers in her grin. Rather than repulsed by the changes though, she embraced them. They made her feel powerful, and that in kind led to her feeling only more beautiful. Was there not a beauty in the spell she had over the entire student body of Casper High that had all of the other girls emulating her and the guys falling over themselves to be deigned with acknowledgment from her? Was there a difference between the beauty of that power and this one?

Better yet she recalls her first taste of flesh. Not kisses carried too far in the passion of the moment, but the way the warm blood flooded into and welled around her mouth. She loved the way her victim had attempted to pry desperately away from her, only for a clawed grip too strong to be human holding them in place. She relished how they thrashed futilely underneath her, their actions only making the meat come off more easily. But best of all was the way they succumbed to her, movements become more and more feeble with every passing second, their eyes dimming out until lifelessness.

The growling in her ears would crescendo into roars at these times.

Yes, Paulina mused. She was a maneater, and accepted it with every fiber of her being.

As she stepped out of the theater with her latest date, Paulina smiled at his offer to walk her home and accepted it; movie and a meal, how thoughtful.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note: Just an idea of what could have happened if a little influence from Dorathea's amulet had stuck with Paulina. This probably sucks, and I really should have cleaned it up, but whatever. I just wanted to write and get this out. I've had an image of a draconic, cannibal Paulina in my head for months. I can totally imagine her and Danny duking it out.**


	22. Leaves in the Wind

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

Oneshot Twenty-Two

Leaves in the Wind

His first day of his new job had been a complete wreck. Edward Lancer would swear to heaven and back that teenagers could sense when an authority figure wouldn't have the steel in them to control an entire class of them. Within ten minutes of class everything had fallen apart with the students refusing to give him their attention, instead deciding to talk amongst one another and lob paper projectiles.

In the chaos, Daniel had been an island of quiet. It was downright unnatural, how he could remain stolid in such an environment. Lancer wouldn't doubt it if the "boy's" "peers" had some sort of instinctual understanding that the not-teenager wasn't one of them, especially considering that they did not even seem to be actively avoiding him.

He just did not belong.

But this was ridiculous. Completely absurd, that it what it was. Boys grow into men and Peter Pan was a character belonging in the pages of books and the dreams of young children.

Unbelievable.

_Ah, but for the longest time you thought the same of ghosts, and look at where that got you._

Edward gulped at the memory of his flight from Amity Park. He wondered if the not-as-young-as-he-appeared Mr. Fenton even knew what befell his hometown.

Usually he wouldn't lose control of a class; even in the young days of his career he had garnered a reputation of a steadfast teacher who was not to be swayed by the wild whims of turbulent teenagers. Understandably though, albeit he hid it, he was a nervous wreck all throughout first period. If he didn't know any better he would say that he was being haunted by a ghost of his past.

Nobody ever did know what had happened to Daniel Fenton, and he had been forgotten soon after his disappearance as disaster descended upon the already danger-ridden town of Amity Park. Edward sighed sadly, knowing that they really should have seen it coming. It had practically been foreshadowed, what with all of the ghosts.

Ignorance is bliss, regardless of whether it was genuine or willful.

His meeting with Daniel after class had been a very short one. Realizing that what needed to be said (or not) could not be gotten out in the five minute passing period before Lancer had another class to teach, he'd handed the not-boy a note to come around after school.

Drumming his meaty fingers on the desk in front of him, the aging educator shot a glance at the digital clock over the classroom door. School had just gotten out, and if Daniel wasn't going to play truant (and wouldn't that bring them back to the old days?) then he should be coming around soon.

Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear.

The scrawny boy strode into the classroom, and taking in just his general bearing Mr. Lancer was taken aback. He knew that things had to change over the twenty years (_even if they did not quite appear to have in the case of Daniel Fenton)_, but he couldn't reconcile this Daniel with the one he had known. That Daniel had been a clumsy boy, always stumbling and tripping over his words.

This Daniel screamed of a predator. His every step carried him forth with a languid grace like a big cat, assured in its supremacy over all the creatures of the realm. Maybe this was the real reason why he seemed so untouchable around the other students.

And suddenly Edward realized something: Mr. Fenton had acted like his past self this morning. Regardless, he couldn't believe that this Daniel was a fake: no act could give off the same feel. And he had to wonder: if Daniel could pull off an act like this morning so well, had he been faking it even back when Mr. Lancer knew him?

Had Mr. Lancer ever known him?

"Mr. _Phentoni_." the teacher drawled as the false-teenager slipped into the desk next to him, turned sideways in the seat to face his substitute first period teacher – and back in his first round of high school, his usual first period teacher. Mr. Lancer had opted to meet with his student at another student desk to give a greater sense of their being on an equal level here. Despite the disdain Edward had pumped into that false surname – even if Daniel had been better disguised it was so obvious, being a common insult that the young Mr. Baxter had called him – he really didn't see how he was supposed to treat a student who should be in his mid to late thirties as another teenager with an overinflated sense of worth.

Heck, he had never been taught when studying to become a teacher on how to deal with students a good two decades older than they were supposed to be.

"You're Daniel. Daniel Fenton." Mr. Lancer continued when Daniel hadn't greeted him.

Daniel mumbled something under his breath, and Edward leaned in.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that, what did you say?"

"Danny. Call me Danny."

Mr. Lancer retreated back. Ah yes, that was right, Daniel's parents and age group had always called him that. Although he did not think it strictly professional, even Edward had caught himself doing so often.

"Right, Danny. You don't deny being a Danny Fenton?"

He saw his former and now current student wince.

". . . no." was uttered after a hesitation, barred before by teeth biting his lower lip.

Silence fell between the two. What was one supposed to say now? How did one confront the topic of eternal youth? Mr. Lancer had never even been close to this particular student twenty years ago, and twenty years was a long time to go between meetings.

"I presume this isn't the first place you've been all these years."

"Of all the things you could've said, you're bringing up my travel habits?" Danny asked in disbelief, and Mr. Lancer couldn't help but chuckle bitterly.

"You're not the only one, Danie- Danny."

"Huh?"

"Amity Park is gone, its people scattered like leaves on the wind."

Confusion and shock was written over his student's face before morphing into . . . disgust?

He looked crushed. Edward wanted to know, but the emotion being silently expressed was oppressive. Mr. Lancer decided to move on.

"I don't know what's happened to make you like this Danny, but what I do know is that humans are creatures of habit. This isn't your first time playing the role of a high school student since Amity Park, is it?" the shake of a head topped by unruly black hair was his answer, the one he had expected.

"As I thought. I can't say I can relate at all to your situation, but what I do know is that as much as we are creatures of habit, we are also ones of progression."

More silence. Danny took in a breath, and the pregnant pause had Mr. Lancer waiting on the edge of his seat.

"But I can't. Just look at me."

"You can't linger forever. There won't be anything to connect you to your old life eventually, and you'll just be clinging to a ghost."

Wanting to give his student a chance to actually consider what he had said, Edward collected his briefcase – the battered one that he had used back in Amity Park, the one that was the only thing he'd managed to bring with him out of the town – and swept out of the room.

And he wondered. What was going on with his student, and why did he keep up this charade of being a high school student. Was it for a sense of normalcy? Danny really was a boy now, and he would have to give up whatever ghost he held onto.

Mr. Lancer absentmindedly rubbed one of his hands against the battered briefcase that he hugged close to his person.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note: Worst. Writing. EVER. Seriously, this sucks. I was pulling teeth writing this and I still absolutely detest how it turns out. I'm just posting it as it is because I finished it and I didn't go through the torture that was writing this for nothing. Anyway, this is set after Twenty Years and Still Not a Day Went By (chapter two in this collection) and ties in with Regret (chapter thirteen). I think the problem was that I lost sight of my original intent; all of those little details can be really distracting. So yes, stone me now if you must.**


	23. Friends

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

Oneshot Twenty-Three

Friends

Sam entered the nail salon expecting to get a pedicure. What she didn't expect was to see Tucker there. And she definitely hadn't thought in all her years of life that she would end up sitting next to her technogeek friend as they got pedicures.

It was very awkward for the both of them.

"Alright, spill it. Why are _you_ here getting a _pedicure_ of all things?" her curiosity could no longer be withheld even by how bizarre it was that any of her two only friends – her _guy_ friends – would willingly enter a salon, let alone pay for its services.

A thought occurred to her, and she voiced it before he could even reply to her last inquiry.

"You're not like, y'know . . . are you?"

"No, I don't know." Tucker raised an eyebrow at Sam, not following her train of thought.

"Y'know . . . attracted to other guys?" she blurted out.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that! It's just that, well, it's _you_ . . . I never thought . . ." the goth trailed off, watching as Tucker's expression changed from dumbfounded to taken aback.

"Woah, woah, woah, I am not gay! I love the ladies too much." the technogeek insisted.

"Oh, okay."

Silence spanned between them once more, broken only by the soft giggling of the ignored pedicurists who obviously found the interaction between Sam and Tucker entertaining.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Gh-" remembering that he was in public, Tucker amended what he was going to say, "hanging out with Danny is a lot of work. All that running around really runs my feet ragged."

Sam nodded in understanding – it was the reason why she was getting a pedicure herself. The tub of hot water and the massage was a relief to her sore feet. The black nail polish was just an extra treat.

They spent most of the time quiet once more, but this time it was a companionable one.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note: This was first prompted by an image of Tucker getting a pedicure (he totally would, 'cause he's cool like that). Then I realized that there really aren't many oneshots and/or stories focusing on just those two as friends – it seems that wherever those two are Danny has to be around. It's just a short little thing, but eh, whatever.**


	24. A Life Taken

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

**Author's Note: As I said I would get around to doing eventually, an alternate ending for Simulacrum. I prefer this one.**

Oneshot Twenty-Four

A Life Taken

Danny pressed himself up flat against the wall, not putting his trust in the dark and the invisibility he had resorted to using to keep him safe. Soft footfalls on kitchen tiles announced the predator's entrance. It took all of his will not to break out into ragged breaths, to give in to his painfully tensed muscles and make a run for it.

_Why did his parents have to make their house phase-proof?_

"You can't escape from me; I _am _you. Or at least, I will be." the voice fluctuating oddly – _dangerously_ – like a hazardous, off-kilter carousel, crooned. The large glowing green blade of the knife that the newcomer held was the only source of light in the night-shrouded surroundings, reflecting eerily off of the figure's eyes and throwing his face into sharp relief.

It was Danny's own, twisted into a wicked mask. It was madness personified.

Other-Danny twirled his weapon around once in the same fashion that Danny did when idly playing with a pen, sending strange shadows flickering briefly over the mirror face. Danny couldn't help but gulp at the sight of the frighteningly serrated edge flashing through the air.

When he got no response, Other-Danny's eyes narrowed, formerly grinning lips tugging down into a frown. He was impatient. He had waited _far_ too long, a voiceless prisoner of his prey, who even now refused to face him.

Looking around, his feral eyes alighted upon the flour container. Despite being the basis for this entity before him, Danny had no idea what Other-Danny was planning; somewhere along the line, it seemed as if his duplicate had just . . . slipped and became whatever he was now. All Danny knew was that no ghost he had ever encountered before even came close to terrifying him this much. Here he was in his own home, cornered by what had once been _himself_.

Other-Danny carefully shifted the knife, wedging it in-between two fingers, and then hefted up the flour container. Next thing Danny knew flour was flying all around the room, dusting everything in a fine layer. Including . . . _oh crap._

"_There you are."_ Other-Danny chuckled at Danny's appearance; albeit invisible, the flour covering his creator made him visible and gave him a resemblance closer to a more classic interpretation of ghosts.

The snapped duplicate stalked closer to Danny, who instinctively relinquished his invisibility to conserve energy.

"This is going to be fun, _so very much_. I will repay every indignity I suffered upon you." Other-Danny's voice dropped into a growl at that last part, his eyes becoming shadowed save for a spark of otherworldly, hurt green flickering in their dark depths.

Now Other-Danny was toe-to-toe with Danny, face shoved into his and mirrored sets of eyes fixated. Other-Danny brought his knife-hand up and dragged the point lightly across Danny's jawline, reveling in the shudder that the action elicited. His eyes fixated on the beads of blood pearling along the thin line.

"I have blood too, you know. No, you wouldn't know, _would you? _Or else you wouldn't have kept away my freedom so callously!" Other-Danny snarled, Danny's whimpers doing nothing to soothe the hot, effervescent rage that unfurled in his belly like a disturbed and spitting angry snake. He saw red.

Abruptly, Other-Danny took a long step back. A flash of bright green blurred through the air and Danny flinched. However, the expected pain never came. Warily, he opened his eyes slowly, to see Other-Danny still standing before him, an expression akin to gloating – only with a feverish, mad quality to it – twisted over his face. In the faint illumination created by the knife, Danny could see a dark liquid dripping from its edge, but a quick glance down at himself showed no wound.

"See? _I have blood too!_ I'm _just like you!_" Other-Danny twittered with warped glee, holding up his free hand to reveal a deep gash across the palm, which was coated in running blood. Danny had no inkling of how to respond to this – his duplicate was off the deep end!

Next thing Danny knew Other-Danny had stepped forward once again, actually shoving his injured hand onto his original's face and smearing blood from forehead to chin. Despite the situation, Danny couldn't help but grimace in disgust, especially at the warm feel and the copper flavor that seeped into his mouth.

"I am going to take from you everything that you never allowed me to have." Other-Danny promised darkly, and Danny gulped and somehow managed to find his voice.

"Oh yeah? Like what? You're not me!" his speech had been weak and faltering at first, but rapidly picked up passion with a touch of the quipping tone he used on his enemies.

"No, I'm not." Other-Danny hissed, brow furrowing and lips drawing back to bare teeth.

Then he pressed the flat edge of the knife to his lips, a wistful twinkle in his eyes. He appraised Danny, but his gaze was distant, as if Other-Danny had lost himself elsewhere.

"I may not be you, but I . . . I can _become you_."

Danny turned intangible just as the knife slashed at him, only to cry out as slump back as a lance of pain shot up from his wounded shoulder. He pressed his opposing hand to the injury, feeling his warm blood spilling and seeping out from between his fingers.

_Damn, he should have known it was one of his parents' inventions!_

"What do you know, we have the same blood." cackled Other-Danny, and he attacked Danny again. With instincts honed from countless ghost fights, the original lunged out of the way. He fell bodily to the ground, hissing through teeth clenched tight with pain as the impact jostled his wound.

Other-Danny smiled down at Danny as the latter started to rise. Having none of that, Other-Danny raised a leg and brought it down on the one who had spawned him, facial muscles actually starting to ache with his widening happy expression. Danny screamed as the brutal attack broke some ribs and writhed underfoot, the duplicate that turned on him only applying more pressure with every passing second.

As Danny's struggles grew feebler the amusement of Other-Danny lessened, until a resolute bearing overcame him.

"Out with the old and in with the new!"

Danny watched the anti-ghost knife come down upon him, felt the excruciating pain of the serrated edge sawing through his flesh, scrape against his bone. His vision blurred and was overwhelmed with myriads of dancing black dots that grew rapidly larger, until at last he succumbed to blissful black.

**LINE BREAK**

"Geez, Danny, be more careful next time you're handling your parents' stuff. You know how dangerous their inventions can be." Sam lectured her best friend concernedly as the trio walked down the street to Fenton Works.

"I know; I was just being a bit careless. It won't happen again." Danny smiled reassuringly, only for Tucker to roll his eyes.

"Come on, we know that's not true. You know, one of these days you're going to find yourself on the wrong end of one of their weapons." Tucker interjected, which got a sheepish laugh out of Danny. The halfa rubbed the back of his neck with his bandaged hand.

"Well, I haven't yet, now have I?" he quirked a wry smile. Reaching Danny's house, they entered and were greeted warmly by the rest of the Fenton family.

Life was good.

**LINE BREAK.**

**Author's Note: I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope it turned out well. What do you guys think?**


	25. The Veil II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

**Author's Note: By popular demand along with my own interest in this story, I bring you chapter two of The Veil. Expect sporadic updates and the chance of past chapters being revised and reuploaded as necessary. I do have plans for this story, but nothing strictly structured unlike most of my multi-chapter stories.**

"Oneshot" Twenty-Five

The Veil – Chapter Two

It was a ghost. Actually, several ghosts; I was just focusing on the one that had actually touched me. Yuck, I was touched by a dead person!

. . . That sounds really wrong.

I tensed, staring like a deer in headlights at the ghost. She was still fairly young and would have been considered beautiful in life, with elegant hair and wearing a really old-fashioned dress. The only reason she wasn't beautiful was the way her eyes seemed to see without seeing, and more importantly the gaping wound across her midsection, blood staining the front of her bodice. She then turned around to face the direction of the door, and I gagged as I saw spectral intestines strain up against the lethal injury.

I watched – absolutely transfixed as if attending the showing to the latest hit horror movie – as her eyes widened with terror – over what? – and she fled with surprising fleetness for her choice of wear into the arms of the slightly older looking man, who would have looked quite gentlemanly were it not for the fact that his head was cloven almost completely in half down the middle. Urgh, I did not need to see that. He held the woman close to him, but could not hide the terror in his own features.

"Jonathan! Marianne!" he shouted in an echoing voice to the other two ghosts present, a teenage boy probably a few years older than me who appeared normal at first and a little girl covered in blood and without a head. The children ran over to him as unimpeded as the other two were by their wounds, the boy's revealed to be a nasty gash running down the length of his back. Together the family huddled together from some unperceived threat.

Wincing, my hands snapped up to cover my ears as shrill shrieks were suddenly emitted from all the ghosts but the father, even though his face had as much horror etched onto it as the rest of his family's. He then released his clinging family, and with a loud cry lunged at some unseen enemy with his hands poised to grapple with him over something. There was a struggle with an adversary that wasn't there, and then the father was pushed to the floor. Suddenly his head was driven down even more, and he fell still. The ghost then vanished from view.

My stomach sunk when I realized that this left the other ghosts to the mercy of whatever had cornered them.

Short work was made of the other three, but it was still sickening to see them jerk and collapse one-by-one to something invisible as if they were puppets with their strings cut, only to disappear almost immediately afterward. I wasn't sure if this or the trembling and helpless sobs of those whose time was to come was worse. I remained as rigid as death where I was for several moments longer, but when nothing more happened I allowed myself to relax.

_What the hell was that!_

A half-forgotten memory of my father's rambling rose to mind.

_There are many kinds of ghosts, Danny-boy. One of the most common being imprints, also known as restligeists or residual hauntings if you want to be technical. The fascinating thing about imprints is that they can be found almost anywhere where strong emotions have been discharged; the stronger the emotions, the stronger the imprints. They're the vestiges – usually auditory or visual – of something that happened there. Of course, even then they're not easy to detect. When you go into ghost hunting these are the kind of ghosts I'll take you out to first encounter! Others are very dangerous even for a veteran ghost hunter like your old man!_

Was this one of those imprints? My stomach hit rock-bottom as I realized that I had just witnessed a family's last – and utterly terrified – moments. It was one thing seeing the blood and knowing that a murder happened, but actually seeing it . . .

I was so shocked by this realization that the fact that I shouldn't even be able to have seen the imprint of the scene had passed me by completely.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the grisly event that I had witnessed but to no success. The images and sounds remained with me, forcing themselves to the fore of my mind with all the subtlety of a hammer.

Holy shit, Mom and Dad were right – ghosts do exist! My entire world suddenly felt flipped irrevocably upside down, all in the course of a single afternoon. I forced myself to snap my gaze away from the spot where the cowering mother and children had been slaughtered; turning it instead to the metal-and-screen thingamajig that wasn't so stupid as I thought it had been to me at first. A shudder wracked me at the eerie light it let off and the sight of the hazy humanoid figures walking aimlessly in and out of the frame.

I wasn't sure what it was, but I'm pretty sure everything is its fault. That and that electrical shock that I had . . . realizing something, I couldn't help but run a hand down my face. _Now_ I know what happened! Of all the stupid . . . seriously, who else but me would grab what is essentially a lightning rod in the middle of a storm?

I should count my blessings that I'm alive and relatively unharmed. Then again, my brain feels like sputtering and dying on me as I try to reconcile with everything that had happened so recently and rapidly. Unfortunately, reality came calling in the form of my sister.

"Da-_nny_," she enunciates my name in that annoying tone that is a prelude to a lecture, "you know you're not supposed to be in this part of the house, now come on before . . ." she blanches as she takes in the sight of the blood. I hardly notice it now, finding it overlaid with fresher images of corpses and ghosts, all in the eldritch light emitted from my parents' invention.

"Eek, Danny! Let's get out of here! Being exposed to a place like this will damage the fragile health of your mind! Really, I have _no_ idea what would possess Mom and Dad to making us live in a place like this!" she rambled, wrapping her arms around one of my own – avoiding my hands much to my relief – and dragging me out of the room.

Hey, that comment on my mind was _not_ necessary! I'm sure it is perfectly fine, thank you very much!

Once we were out I wrenched my arm out of her grasp and glared at her.

"Me and my _fragile_ mind will be up in my room, and I don't want to see you for the rest of the night." I stomped away, but quickly stopped as the action sent thick clouds of choking dust up into the air and threatened to break the floorboards. Even though I was doing my best to ignore her protests, I still couldn't help but zero-in on the last comment she made before I turned a corner and disappeared from her sight.

"Why did it sound like your voice was echoing?"

Maybe it's just the house, even though I didn't hear my voice echoing. So maybe it's just Jazz who is the one who needs to evaluate her mental health, rather than getting on everyone else's case about theirs.

**LINE BREAK**

I enter my room, shutting the door behind me before flinging myself onto my slightly too-small bed, which hardly rocks as my weight hits it unlike usual. I inhale deeply, taking in the smell of my recently washed pillowcase, mixed with that barely detectable scent that was my own along with the overbearing musty smell of my room. Unlike before, I find that my olfaction is not offended by it, and I chuckle humorlessly at that, figuring I must be getting too used to this place already. My life certainly wasn't as interesting as it has been turning out recently before we moved here, that's for sure. I think I understand now why the phrase 'may you live in interesting times' is considered a curse. In an effort to keep myself preoccupied – _anything_ to distract myself from all of this confusing and horrible crap that has been dumped on me so suddenly – I wrack my brain trying to figure out if and when somebody might have said that to me, only to come up empty.

Sighing heavily, I rolled over onto my back and just stared at the ceiling for a while, not really seeing it. Instead, the translucent figures of nondescript ghosts dripping with gore wander over my vision. Screams echo in my ears, and everything seems far off. After a while I groan. Everything is so messed up. _I'm_ so messed up. I glare at my hands. It's their entire fault, I just know it. These stupid painless burns and that stupid contraption and that damn storm. It must have fried my brain.

My life sucks now. Heck, this entire year has sucked. Freshman year, public ridicule and contempt for being my parents' son, The Move, and now all of this. I groan with the realization that Saturday is almost over and that I only have one more day until the weekend is over. I haven't even gotten started on my homework. Soon it'll be back to school, where expectations are heaped on your shoulders, teachers that don't give a damn stare down their noses at you like something unsavory, pretty girls won't give you the time of day, and bullies are intent on turning you into a canvas for bruises.

Why can't it all just go away!

What little of the evening pretty much passes with my wallowing unproductively in misery, and then I prepared for bed. Worst day ever.

**LINE BREAK**

The next day passed by uneventfully. The first thing I did upon waking up – after a night of little sleep that was unsurprisingly fitful, given what I had gone through – was check my burns. Yep, they were still there, and with no apparent change to them at all. I didn't leave the house at all even though the only other alternative is being bored all day at home (no way was I going to explore the uncharted areas of the house again right after yesterday.) It's just . . . I don't know, the thought of facing the outside world scares me after the accident with the weird invention thing.

For a while I rummaged around, finally finding the aim of my search in one of the spare rooms that my father used for his packrat storage near the master bedroom: gloves. I really don't want anyone to see my burns, and it's fortunate that Jazz missed them in favor of the bloodstains last night. Although worn out, the gloves were still in pretty good condition, even if they looked rough. They were black with short fingers lacking tips, only since these belonged to my dad they're huge, the short fingers of them coming up to the highest joint of my fingers. They were also very baggy, coming a fair distance past my wrist and slipping with every movement, but I solved this issue with some white Velcro strips that I had found near the gloves. Although they still looked awkward on my much smaller hands, the bindings kept them in place which was really all I was asking for right now. If I actually cared about appearance and we had the money, I would actually do something about my hair and wear something that doesn't scream sloppy, misfit teenage boy.

I soon spent time avoiding Jazz, though. The moment I greeted her at breakfast she had fixated on me, giving me a look that made me feel like one of her subjects for some _fascinating_ something-or-other psychological project. She wouldn't stop pestering me. Fortunately, due to an utter lack of response, Jazz seemed to give up on whatever scheme she had on me sooner or later, as she eventually did leave the house.

The rest of the day I mostly lazed around, idly rereading some of the old comic books of Tucker's that had been left in my possession (accidentally, of course; there's no way I'd accept charity even though I can't afford comic books of my own) or tinkering with a couple of the model rockets that I had received for my birthday. There's absolutely nothing to do in this house, unless you're interested in the restoration of old homes or are a ghost hunter. At one point though I heard those same screams of the murdered family from yesterday, and I can only hope that it's not a frequent occurrence. Knowing my luck though, it probably is. Because life frickin' hates me, I swear.

My puttering around like this ended though as the day turned to night and I had to rush through all of the homework that I had put off until then, of course. Because what normal teenage boy actually sets aside time in their schedule – even if said time is wasted being bored – to study and do homework? Those freaky straight-A nerds that are in band and on the chess team and suck up to teachers, that's who. Mom and Dad also came home at this time, but because I was busy and they were exhausted after their mini-vacation and went almost straight to bed after arriving home we didn't see each other.

And that's how my weekend passed. Save for being electrocuted, witnessing a murder scene that happened ages ago, and re-hearing the screams today, the weekend was awfully dull.

**LINE BREAK**

I greeted Monday morning with a snarled 'go away' at my mom, who had rapped loudly on my bedroom door and shouted at me to wake up and get ready for school. Regardless, I still roll out of bed and make my way in a haze of sleepiness – I'm actually not as tired as I suspected I would be, considering that it had been early into the next day when I finally went to bed – through my morning routine. I stumble my way downstairs and into the kitchen, which is much more brightly lit even on this overcast day than the rest of the house, probably because of the bay windows. They're nice because they let in a lot of sunlight, even though you also have a great view of the wild yard and the dead trees through it. The kitchen is probably my favorite part of the house, Mom having made it a pleasant refuge from the rest of the creepy place.

"Morning." I say and plop myself into a chair at the kitchen table. The smell of eggs and pancake makes my stomach rumble, and only just then do I realize just how ravenous I am. I feel like I can eat a horse.

Mom gives a start, whipping around at the speed of light and brandishing the spatula she held like a sword, her face intense. My eyes widen in surprise, wondering why she reacted so. She had these little starts occasionally, but never because of me. When she saw that it was just me she lowered the makeshift weapon, but her face took a moment to loosen up.

"Morning sweetie." she responded, her tone slightly strained due to whatever it was that had her act like she had, but she smiled at me nonetheless and that eased my concern.

The rest of the morning passed normally, even with Dad's boisterous entrance – albeit his good mood muted somewhat as he laid his eyes upon me, and I saw him eyeing me with something like suspicion. At one point I noticed him reaching toward the salt jar, which is normal for him when eating. Still, the hairs on the back of my neck tingled, seeming to be screaming a warning at me, and I ducked not a moment too soon; the salt he flung at me went sailing over my head and scattered on the floor behind me. Mom glared at Dad for that, and he didn't try it again for the rest of the time I spent in his presence. Breakfast was otherwise spent in relative peace, although I panicked when Mom inquired about my gloves and only managed to distract her by pointing out that the toast was burning.

Unsettled for some reason that I couldn't place a finger on, I scarfed the rest of my breakfast down. I still felt very hungry (I hope this means that I'm hitting a growth spurt; I'm long overdue for one), but I'd already had two servings and I had to get going to school anyway. The bus doesn't come along this way, so I have to walk to school. It's not too far away, but I don't have the luxury of risking being tardy like the star athletes have. Besides, if I don't scurry to class early enough a jock will probably find me and stuff me in a locker or something.

With a hurried farewell to my parents I sling my beaten up backpack onto my back and exit the house. I take a breath of the crisp early spring morning air, having forgotten what it was like after being cooped up in the house for most of the weekend. I started walking at a fast pace down the path that headed out onto the main road, casting a last long look at the crappy place before the trees obscured it from my view.

It's the most inexplicable thing in the world, but I'm feeling as if I'm literally being tugged back to the house. I kind of don't want to leave. It's probably just because of what my destination is, though. The feeling is soon over and forgotten anyway.

On to school, oh joy. I am so brimming with glee at the mere prospect of returning to the educational institution, and no, I am totally not being sarcastic.

In case you didn't get it, I actually was being sarcastic.

**LINE BREAK**

I turned onto the road heading to Casper High, the sudden change from beaten dirt track to asphalt underfoot jarring me back to reality. Shortly after leaving the house I had been lost in thought, most over lamenting the fact that I would be returning to school far too early than I felt was healthy. Feeling out of sorts, I still _really_ don't want to see anyone; even Sam and Tucker, and they're my best friends.

Pausing to recollect myself, I notice something strange: there are no twigs or scratches decorating me. I have never been able to make it through those woods before without getting some sign of my passing. Come to think of it, I can't even recall the feeling of brushing up against any of the trees or foliage. That's strange, but not an unpleasant revelation.

Heartened that I wouldn't have to pick anything out of my clothes and hair I continued on to school, stopping only once it loomed in sight. I gulped at the two-story brick building and the students milling around it. Right now I'm trying to figure out where I'd rather be: back at the house or at school on a Monday – scratch that, any – morning. Sadly enough, I think the house is winning.

An unexpected slap to my back sends me stumbling forward tripping over my own two feet, and I pinwheel my arms to stop from falling down completely. Glaring, I turned around to see Tucker and Sam, the former grinning like a fox.

"I'm going to get you back for that, you know." I warned.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, we missed you. Were you confined to that house this entire weekend?" he responded, nonchalantly waving off my threat.

"Remember, you have to bring us over! Is it really haunted? You look as pale as a ghost – did you see one?" Sam interjected, and I flinched.

"Uh, sure. No, of course not – ghosts don't exist after all." I kept my gaze down, picking at the hem of my slightly large shirt. Sam didn't seem convinced, but thankfully changed the topic. Unfortunately, it wasn't to anything much better.

"Trying to make a new fashion for yourself?" she asked with a tease to her voice, pointing at my gloves.

"I guess." after all, I'm going to be wearing these until the burns heal. I ignored the niggling little voice in the back of my head that said 'if'. And even if they did, I was without doubt that obvious scars would be left behind. I'm still not sure exactly what happened, but I don't want to invite any questioning.

"They look sick. And hey, if you wear more black then you'll match your girlfriend!" Tucker chuckled.

The morning bell rang and cut off the protest that Sam and I were just about to launch a rant at him over being called a couple. Still, if looks could kill Tucker would be a pile of ashes.

"Come on, let's–" I start saying as I move to enter the building, only to be interrupted by a loud ripping sound, followed by a sudden ease of weight off of my back. I groan loudly as I see that my backpack has split open (_again, ugh_) and dumped its unwieldy contents all over the ground.

I start gathering up my stuff in my arms, making a note in the back of my head to get my hands on some duct tape as soon as possible. Sam and Tucker bend down to start helping.

"You guys go on ahead, I'll be done soon and catch up." I insisted, and they left.

I was just snatching up the last of my pencils when a large shadow fell upon me. Noticing the sudden shift of light almost immediately, I looked up and gulped to see a large figure looming over me. I'm starting to think that this day is turning out worse than the one I got electrocuted on! It's none other than Dash Baxter, freshman quarterback in football and my biggest bully.

"Hey Fenton, you know what I got on my test last Friday?" the jock growled. Gulping, I shake my head 'no'. _Joy_, he's taking out the frustration of his poor achievements on me _again_. He does this almost every time he has a test. What is worse is that he's probably been stewing on this for a while.

"A 'D'! You know what that stands for?" he warned.

"Err . . . no?"

"Dead meat, as in you!"

I winced as the burns on my hands tingled. Then I responded to my instincts. Ignoring the last miscellaneous small objects I lost, I fled toward and into the school building. Dash, obviously anticipating this react, pursued me a moment later. Albeit I had a short head start Dash would usually have caught me by now, but such was not the case currently. I felt light, like a companion of wind, as I tore down the linoleum-tiled halls of Casper High with Dash close behind.

Then a realization hit me that I couldn't keep this up forever, that he was still stubbornly on my tail and would catch me sooner or later. Skittering around a corner and then picking back up the pace lost from the turn, I fervently wished that he couldn't see me, that I might miraculously make it into the relative safety of the classroom we shared for first period before he could get a beating in.

Dash appeared around the corner. Not hearing his heavy footfalls against the floor a couple moments later I chanced a glance back, to see that the athlete had stopped and was looking around with a befuddled expression. I'm right here in the middle of the hallway, so why isn't he chasing me?

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth I headed off to class, jumping up into the air and coming surprisingly lightly down in what felt like a longer time than it should have taken as I heard Dash bellow.

"Fen-_turd_, just wait until after school!"

I slipped after another student into the classroom right before the bell rung and plopped down into my seat, which was in the front row next to Sam's and before Tucker's. Mr. Lancer – the first period English teacher – still wasn't in yet, but the should-have-been rowdy room was hushed. Twisting around in my seat I saw that my friends were staring at me. Or at least, Sam was; Tucker was sharing his attention between me and his PDA.

"What?" I asked.

"When did you get here? We were watching the door the entire time and you never once came in. And now you're suddenly here!" Sam burst. I squirmed, feeling as if I were on the wrong side of interrogation.

"Maybe I just came in when you two blinked?" I offered up lamely. Sam scoffed – clearly not buying it – but dropped the topic as Mr. Lancer entered the classroom, Dash close behind. The latter shot me a glare that had fear coiling in my gut before he sat down at his desk in the back of the classroom with a huff.

Mr. Lancer called for homework and the papers were passed up to the front to be quickly snatched up by the portly teacher and then dropped onto his desk. Then the period passed in its usual way: a boring lecture which I took scant notes to while doodling in the margins. My mind was a mile away, inevitably finding its way back to the dark interior of the house and its unwelcome inhabitants. Not the vermin, I should make clear.

When the period ended I swept my stuff onto my ruined backpack and gathered up the fabric so that the makeshift bundle wouldn't end up dropping everything over the ground again. I sighed, and went off to my next classes with Tucker and Sam beside me. The mood to talk was pretty much defunct, so our passing period was spent with Sam ranting about how inhumane eating meat was, while Tucker was pulled away from his PDA and drawn into an argument with her. I was stuck in the middle of this stupid little personal diets feud of theirs _again_. Ugh. Thankfully we reached the next class and they had to shut up before the sneer that had suddenly found its way on Sam's face was backed up by what she had to say next.

**LINE BREAK**

Lunchtime was finally here. Sam, with her bagged lunch, grabbed a table for us as Tucker and I hurried to the lunch line to buy our own lunches.

What they were serving was . . . not expected, to say the least. I stared in shock at the contents on my tray, trying to reconcile it with food only to fail. This was not food! This was grass growing out of a sodden hunk of bread, with mud on the side! I get that our school is cheap, but I think that this is going overboard.

Tucker's reaction was even worse. He had been reduced to a blubbering mess, and I had to escort him back to our table. Once we sat down he started lamenting the loss of his meat. Albeit I agreed with him, even I had to roll my eyes at his histrionics.

"Well I think it's great!" Sam declared in a chipper, smug manner, and I swore I felt one of my eyes twitch.

"You would, wouldn't you? In fact, this seems like something that you would do . . ." I trailed off, allowing my insinuation to hang clear and loud in the air. Tucker, dense as he is, picked up on it. With the manner of a man wronged he pushed himself up into a stand, face hard as he jabbed an accusatory finger at Sam.

"This is all your fault!" he shouted angrily. Sam stood up then, equaling her level with Tucker, but with a more calm expression as she feigned disinterest, pretending to closely scrutinize the nails of one of her hands instead.

"Well, I just happened to mention to some people that our school could make advancements in student health and food costs if they switched to more environmentally-friendly alternatives. Ultra-recyclo-vegetarianism is a very cheap lifestyle, I'll have you know."

I stopped paying attention to their soon-to-escalate argument the moment something hit me heavily on the back of my head and dripped down onto my T-shirt, plastering to my skin and hair unpleasantly. I reluctantly reached a hand back, touching my exposed fingertips to the substance and bringing a smidgeon of it up to my face. Urgh, mud. It's a better alternative to what it could have possibly been, but still. At least, I hope it's mud . . . it's really accessible right now, but anything can happen in a high school.

Snickers at my expense rose from the nearby tables like a mean-spirited laugh track from a sitcom. Doubtful that this was an accident, I turned around, blanching when I saw Dash stomp up to me, a plate of grass and mud – a chunk of the latter conspicuously missing from a part of his tray – held up in one hand.

"Fentoid! This is all your creepy girlfriend's fault!"

"He is not my boyfriend!" Sam objected loudly but was ignored, Dash and his lackeys focused on me instead. It's not a good circumstance, but I'm kind of glad for that – Sam is strong, stronger than me actually, but she's still a girl. I don't think Dash actually would hit a girl, but I would never be able to forgive myself if she got hurt for me.

Lost in that train of thought, I didn't return to reality until a bunch of mud was dropped onto my head, spraying out to cover my shoulders and the floor around me also. Guffawing, Dash and the other jocks left after shooting some bad puns at me. A chill crept over me, and I felt as if my heart was slowing, stopping, turning to ice. Suddenly I wanted to lunge at him and . . . and what?

I hung my head, realizing that I was as helpless as always. There was nothing I could do to get back at Dash: he was significantly bigger and stronger than me, and had the school faculty eating out of his hands. His parents weren't called crazy, a label that could easily be applied to me should I act out as their lackluster son. I wasn't a straight-A, intelligent and well-dressed student; I was just Danny, a scrawny and average boy who hung out with other outcasts.

I ducked out of the cafeteria, doing my best to ignore the jeers of my peers and the concern of my two friends. Entering the bathroom, I make my way over to a sink and stare into the mirror that hung over it. Mud is flattening my unruly hair and streaked down my face, along with staining the upper part of my shirt. I groaned before turning on the faucet. I looked around and, seeing no one else in the bathroom with me, loosened a couple of the Velcro strips on my gloves until I could strip them off and tuck them into a pocket of my jeans. Seeing the still-fresh burns on my hands I winced. Although not in pain, they were gruesome looking.

Wetting my hands I did my best to scrape the mud from myself with them. Once I feel like I have done a decent job I look back up into the mirror, assessing my appearance. I got most of it off save for on the shirt, which is now damp and rather brown and just plain unpleasant looking. Ah well, a go through the wash will probably do it fine. What doesn't look alright is me. Has my skin always been that pale? I lean closer forward. The bathroom lighting is weird; it almost looks like I'm glowing, making my pallid complexion stand out all the more.

How disconcerting. I'm surprised that Mom didn't send me back to my room for sick rest the moment she laid eyes upon me this morning. Sighing, I grab a paper towel and dry off my hands before pulling on my gloves and exiting the bathroom.

That's when things get weird. Well, weirder. I'm starting to see a trend in my life, and it all ties back to my parents.

I was just passing by the faculty-only door leading into the kitchens when I felt a chill descend upon me, seeping into my very being. Something inside me recognizes it as inexplicably familiar, like a half-remembered acquaintance. My curiosity piqued, I backtrack to peek through the window set in the door. I don't see any cause of the cold feeling, as the freezers are all the way on the far side of the kitchen.

Quickly growing bored I turn to leave until I realized something odd. There's a rotund lady dressed like the other kitchen workers in their midst, but she's just standing there and looking about in confusion. Is she senile? No one else seems to notice her either. I gape when I see someone _pass through her_, still acting as if she isn't there.

My mind brings up an inevitable conclusion, one that I don't want to acknowledge.

_Ghost_.

Another one! I moan loudly, feeling sick to my stomach. Am I going to start seeing dead people all over the place? Shakily, I move to leave, but am stopped by a firm hand latching itself onto my shoulder. I practically jump out of my skin.

Turning around, my eyes widen when I see that it is none other than the ghost. I crinkle my nose: she smells like freezer burn and slightly of meat recently gone bad.

"Excuse me dearie, but I was hoping that you could clear up a misunderstanding for me?" she asked in a granny voice, taking me aback. I thought that ghosts were supposed to be stupid and evil, if the way Dad goes about them is any indication. This one actually seems sentient, unlike the imprints from the house.

"Err, sure?"

The lunch lady ghost beamed, and I wonder if the fact that no other humans could see frustrated her.

"Excellent! I came back here today – today is meatloaf day, you know – but there's no meat anywhere! Where has it gone?"

"Well, the menu was changed. My friend Sam convinced the school to change to an ultra-recyclo-vegetarianism one." I grumbled at that. Only to feel a painful pressure exerted from the hand on my shoulder. I look back up at the ghost from where my gaze dropped, only to recoil. She is _livid_. An unnatural wind has picked up; causing her clothes and hair to whip about furiously, and her formerly matronly eyes have become pits of green fire, flaring out to lick at the edges of the sockets. It feels as if ice cubes have been pressed against my burns.

"Changed the menu? _Changed the menu! NO MEAT?!"_ my hands flew to my ears as she screeched, an otherworldly wail echoing in her voice. The stench of expired meat became stronger.

Fortunately she seems to pay me no more heed, releasing her grip on me and flying (yes, _flying_) low to the ground instead. The wind left in her wake ruffled me. I remained standing stock-still where I was in a daze for several moments until a rumbling sound that was becoming progressively louder broke me out of it. Screams came from the kitchen, signaling that it was time to go. I bolted down the hallway, only for a flurry of meat to burst through the heavy steel kitchen door and fly in a trail down the ghost's path – the same one as mine. The amazing flying food quickly overcame me, and after a sudden pummeling in the back I collapsed and passed out.

**LINE BREAK**

**Author's Note: Yet another chapter that was split up. Anyway, sorry that this took forever to upload; I had this chapter written before, but I scrapped most of what I had, gave up in writer's block, and then typed this up in a total of a few hours when inspiration struck. This is still obviously a rough version, most especially with the tense errors. Golly gee, tenses are the most frustrating things in the world. When and if (albeit it is likely, so don't worry too much about the 'if') I write the third chapter then The Veil shall be made into a story of its own. Please review, especially if you have constructive criticism.**


	26. Boredom

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

Oneshot Twenty-Six

Boredom

_Wow, I didn't think that Dad was being literal when he mentioned ripping me apart molecule-by-molecule_. Danny thought as he floated. There really wasn't anything else that he could do. He watched as more molecules formed around him, idly remarking in his 'head' upon the curious quirk that was his ghostly healing. He knew that it could heal even the nastiest of injuries he had accrued in his ghost-fighting career within a single night, but he hadn't thought that it was _that good_.

_Boring_, it really was, to the point that he might have preferred nonexistence over this. There just wasn't much entertainment at the molecular level. Heck, at this size he couldn't even make out what anything was. It was actually pretty disconcerting, cause for preoccupying his mind with anything rather than giving consideration to his surroundings.

It wasn't just boring and too weird for his tastes, it was frustrating also. Danny couldn't even really move, and while he was certain that he did not need food or sleep in his current state, even his perception of time was whacked up to the point that he was worrying. How long had he been like this? Danny hoped that it would be a relatively short amount of time since his rather thorough deconstruction took place.

**Author's Note: I was bored, had this idea a while ago, typed it up and never uploaded it since I thought it was crap. Found it while looking through my files and figured I might as well upload it to reassure you guys that I'm not dead, and to give you an apology for not updating this in way too long of a time. I'm afraid I've been preoccupied with original writing for a while now, and as much as I like fanfiction I do desire to become a published author one day.**


	27. A Cat is a Cat

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

**Note: In Tucker's point-of-view.**

Oneshot Twenty-Seven

A Cat is a Cat

A few years back I had a cat. Well, it really wasn't _my_ cat, it was my family's, and on that note I don't think it's possible to own a cat in the first place. Anyway, that's beside the point, so getting back on track, I typically I didn't express much interest in this cat; heck, I don't even remember its name. It was just there, an ever present fixture of the household.

But I remember one day I had been grounded and all of my means of entertainment taken away. So I was sitting at the kitchen table as I sullenly ate my dinner, when I saw the cat. It was lying on the floor a few feet away, its gaze locked solely on me. It was a scrawny furball, but it was vicious and paranoid and it always watched everybody in its immediate vicinity. I kind of felt uncomfortable underneath its scrutiny, and wondered idly what it must have been thinking as it stared at me.

I looked to my hands, perfectly normal for a human. I looked to my legs, also perfectly normal for a human. And yet these mundane parts of me allowed me to tower over the feline and manipulate objects in a way it could never hope to. Perhaps it was envious of my superiority in these aspects?

For about half a minute I mulled this thought in my head, trying to see it from the cat's perspective. Then the cat looked away from me, and the hypnotic hold it had over me was broken. No, of course the cat didn't think that. After all, a cat is a cat and that is that.

Perhaps I'm not explaining myself here. The cat is a cat; it's nothing else, it simply is what it is. A cat is an animal, and does not consider such vague notions as desiring to be something that it is not, pondering the impossible 'what ifs' of its existence.

Unfortunately, Sam was a human.

Sam . . . Sam had always wanted to be unique. And what is more unique than a half-ghost? It wasn't just a fancy of hers, for she knew it was possible. After all, her best friend was a half-ghost, and he wasn't born that way. And on that note, never let me consider where natural half-ghosts would come from again.

It wasn't too long ago, the day when . . .

Well, the Fenton Portal was being reactivated, having been shut down for about a week for maintenance. And what a sweet week that was, with no ghost save for the Box Ghost getting through (which now convinced us, Team Phantom, that the portly ghost had a means of getting into our plane of existence other than the manmade portal).

However, it wouldn't start, and the assembled people – Team Phantom and the Fentons – trudged up the stairs out of the lab. I thought Sam had been bringing up the rear; we all had. None of us had noticed that she had slipped off without our notice.

Of course, we knew what was wrong with the portal: the on button was still on the inside, only it had been turned off during the tune-up. Sam wanted to be the one to turn it on, and knew that we would disapprove. Looking back on it, Danny's act of doing so was a good deed done by accident. Sam though, hers was out of desire.

We had just reached the top of the stairs when a horrible, high scream arose from beneath us, a sound that still echoes in my head whenever it comes to mind. I thought my skin was going to peel off at the wretched sound.

Everybody rushed back down, Danny's father causing the floor to shake with every frenzied step. I didn't though, not at first, for I recognized that scream for what it was. I had heard it before, only not quite so high-pitched.

It was Danny's death scream, only Danny had been right with us the entire time.

Dreading the worst (_what if it malfunctions what if Danny's parents see her what if she d-_) I caught up with the rest and was caught up in a confused mess. Danny was shouting incoherently, pounding his fists against the wall that his dad's bulk made as Mr. Fenton stood resolutely before him, roaring as unintelligibly as his son in my friend's face. Mrs. Fenton came up from behind and grabbed Danny's arms to restrain him, and I winced as I saw him flail in her grasp, landing several hits on her and nearly slipping free more than once.

_Sam!_ _Where was she?_

A revolting stench hung over the lab, and my gagging at it grew worse the further in I progressed, but I did not stop. Seeing Jazz standing off to the side, eyes wide and fixed on some point past the rest of her family, I gulped and shuffled over to her tentatively, trying to see what she saw.

And there was Sam, but what was there was not the girl that I remembered, the one that I had seen only moments before. She would never be again.

A cat is a cat, and although Sam is not a cat, curiosity still got her.

**Author's Note: Wrote the majority of this one day in the summer of 2012, forgot about it, found it and was struck with a desire to finish it despite how awful it is with all the semi-colons and stuff.**


	28. Like an Eagle

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.**

Oneshot Twenty-Eight

Like an Eagle

"Dad, watch out for the cliff!" Jazz's shrill scream and a pair of arms clutching tightly around his torso waking Danny up from his doze. His head snapped up from where it had previously been lolling down in a doze, eyes widening as he saw the precipice the Fenton RV was careening towards and his father at the wheel. The only adult (if only by physique) was not even paying attention to his surroundings, instead immersed in an old handheld gaming device.

"Nonsense, there is no cliff! If there was, then this baby would tell me," Jack did not remove his eyes from his game as he fondly patted the box-shaped contraption – obviously of Fenton make by the green grooves in the metal, not to even mention the surname branded boldly on its front – attached to the dashboard. A brief emission of crackling sound was followed by a monotone voice ordering, "Go straight one and a half miles."

"See?" this did nothing to reassure his children, considering the fact that they were still heading straight and the edge of the cliff was rapidly encroaching.

The Fenton RV soared off the cliff like a majestic eagle, albeit one consisting of several tons of metal and containing squishy humans within. There was a moment where it seemed to be suspended in the sky, and in this slow-motion progression of time two thoughts made themselves known to Danny: one, that he would have to do something even in a veritable mobile anti-ghost fortress with his father there, and two, that Jazz's screaming was really getting on his nerves and he was pretty sure that her grip on him was choking the remaining half of his life out.

Just as he was bracing himself to 'go ghost', the Fenton GPS spoke up once more.

"Deploy Fenton RV: Aerial Assault Mode."

Huh? Danny was pretty sure that a GPS wasn't supposed to do that.

Jack seemed to think nothing of the command though, slapping a button placed above him on the ceiling. Danny could feel the vehicle shudder even more than the descent was already causing, the sounds of electricity whirring and gears grinding to life, pneumatic hissing accompanying this all. Suddenly the metal death trap started leveling out until all motion became smooth.

Several tense moments later Jazz slackened her grip on her brother, who pushed her off and took a deep breath of air.

"Err, Fenton RV: Aerial Assault Mode?" Danny asked, even as he thought it best not to ask how the RV could fly.

"Yeah! I installed it last night. I thought I told you kids?"

Seeing one of Jazz's eyes twitch erratically, Danny unbuckled his seatbelt and scooted as far away as he could on the bench that they were seated on.

"_No, you didn't, and I would have liked to have known,"_ she ground out.

Jack appeared stricken.

"I can't believe I forgot to! Let's get home and I can tell you all about it then!" the orange-wearing man beamed, even though he started blabbering about his newest work on the Fenton Family Ghost Assault Vehicle immediately.

Danny thought that his father had somehow missed the point.

**A/N: Yeah, sorry for not updating in forever. Honestly, my interest in Danny Phantom ebbed a bit and I found a new fandom to write for in its stead. Then when I finally regained interest I was burdened with a lot of stuff and still will not be getting many updates out for a while (I just had this random idea and decided that it would be nice to write a drabble in an attempt to familiarize myself once more with writing for Danny Phantom).**


	29. His Eyes

**Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom**

Oneshot Twenty-Nine

His Eyes

They say that the eyes are windows to the souls.

They hate his green eyes. They show his true nature, disguised behind a human appearance and heroic pretense. But no human could have such eyes, the color of the Ghost Zone and all its evil.

They love his blue eyes. Looking into them, they're reminded every time of what he means to them. He was their son on the day he was born, and as have his eyes not changed from their initial blue, so too has that not changed.

**A/N: Honestly, I have no excuse for the first thing I've uploaded for TFS in months being this stupid drabble. I found it while going through old files and decided to upload it. I really am trying to get back into writing for the Phandom. You people need to nag me to upload more. *Is incorrigible***


End file.
